


The Education That I Missed

by michaelandthegodsquad



Category: Borderlands, Tales from the Borderlands - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Teachers, F/M, Fluff, Good Dad Jack, Kid Fic, M/M, Multi, Open Relationships, Polyamory, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-02
Updated: 2016-08-23
Packaged: 2018-04-24 09:41:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 20,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4914595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/michaelandthegodsquad/pseuds/michaelandthegodsquad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rhys's goals for this school year are as follows:</p><p>1. Keep up with lesson plans (Don't let them pile up this year, you doof)<br/>2. Avoid Vasquez as much as possible/just try not to get fired<br/>3. Be attentive with students' individual needs<br/>4. Maintain professional relationships with all parents, even the one you hooked up with that one time (especially that one)<br/>5. Ignore his attempts at flirting and DO NOT hook up with him again, no matter how much you may want to<br/>6. Seriously DON'T<br/>7. ....just try to get through the next ten months in one piece</p><p>OR:</p><p>In which Rhys is a teacher; Angel is his student; Jack is her father/Rhys's one night stand from summer vacation; Yvette, Vaughn, Sasha, and Fiona are the terrible friends who will never let him live it down; everyone wants to do the right thing for Angel's sake; and Rhys is just trying to keep it all together until June.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. September

**Author's Note:**

  * For [caiat00n](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=caiat00n).



> This began with a [prompt](http://michaelandthegodsquad.tumblr.com/post/130315244518/for-the-prompt-thing-rhys-and-jack-hook-up-at-a) (from the lovely [caiat00n](http://caiat00n.tumblr.com/)) that got away from me very quickly. 
> 
> Title, predictably, is from Van Halen's "Hot for Teacher," because why wouldn't it be?
> 
> Special thanks to the Sin Squad, as usual, for their continued love and support. 
> 
> This fic will be completed in ten chapters--one for each month of the school year. All dates are in real time and in accordance with my local public school calendar. Tags and ratings may change with future chapters. If there are any tags you would like me to add, please feel free to reach out to me here or on Tumblr!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks especially to [scootsaboot](http://scootsaboot.tumblr.com/) for the fantastic beta work!

_Thursday, September 17_

Rhys doesn’t actually remember much from that night over summer vacation, though that’s not to say it wasn’t memorable. It’s just—he was drunk _,_ okay, _really_ drunk. And Yvette and Sasha are enablers who encourage him to make bad decisions, like having “just _one more_ kamikaze _”_ and leaving with that guy who “kinda looks like, y’know, how your dad always has that one hot friend? Y’know?”

He remembers bits of it—being pressed together and making out against the wall by the bathrooms; making out on the sidewalk while they flagged down a cab; Rhys pulling away for a second to mumble “Your place or?” and the guy saying “Nah, cupcake, definitely yours,”; making out in the back of the cab while the driver pointedly raised the volume on the radio; making out in front of Rhys’s building, in the elevator, against his front door. He remembers that the guy kissed like he was trying to win a fight, and Rhys just melted into him, letting big, warm hands touch and press all over him like they belonged there. 

He _definitely_ remembers what happened once they got inside Rhys’s apartment, that’s for sure—kneeling by his bed, sucking the guy’s thick cock while he tangled his fingers in Rhys’s hair and said “Yeah, that’s it, sugar,” for one. Being pressed open by thick, blunt fingers, for another. Having his hands held behind his back and his face pressed into the bed while he was fucked within an inch of his life, definitely. And then the guy getting dressed while Rhys lied back on his bed, dazed and vaguely thinking _everything is different now_ while the guy chuckled and slapped his thigh, saying, “See ya around, sweetheart,” before leaving.

And that’s exactly what Rhys remembers now as that _exact_ _guy_ walks into his classroom on Parent-Teacher night, dragged along by Rhys’s third grade student, Angel.

The first Parent-Teacher night is two weeks into the school year, and so far it’s gone… _okay._ Rhys is just meeting them for the first time so they’re mostly nice, but others are sort of insane helicopter parents and Rhys cringes internally when he sees how mortified their kids are. Dealing with parents is, admittedly, Rhys’s least favorite part of the job, but it’s a necessary evil.

Angel’s father is his last parent of the night, which Rhys is grateful for at first because it’s already nearing 8:30 and he just wants to go home and have some ice cream in front of the TV. When the knock at the doorframe comes, he sighs and smiles tiredly, not even looking up when he tells them to come in. He looks up with a friendly smile and says hello to Angel, but when his eyes trail up to her father, trailing close behind with his big hand secured in her tiny one, his mouth drops open on the greeting.

“Hey,” the guy says coolly, smirking as he reaches his free hand out to shake Rhys’s. “Jack Lawrence. I’m Angel’s dad.” It’s been about six weeks since Rhys has had those hands on him, but the memories come back to him quickly as he shakes Jack’s head, mouth still dropped open, eyes wide.

“R-Rhys Walker,” he says dumbly, not even bothering to refer to himself as Mr. Walker because, well. It feels silly at this point.

“Oh, believe me, I know who you are, _Mr. Walker.”_ Rhys gapes at him some more, eyes flicking briefly to Angel. “I mean, Angel won’t shut up about you. Always Mr. Walker this and Mr. Walker that. You’re like her favorite teacher or something,” he says, grinning and _still shaking Rhys’s hand,_ “and I gotta say, I think I can see why.”

Rhys flushes at that, finally closing his mouth and looking down at the papers on his desk, wondering how _the fuck_ this is his life. “Right, well. I really uh. Appreciate that. Why don’t we sit and talk about Angel for a minute?” Angel immediately sits in her seat in the front row, and Jack forgoes sitting in the chair Rhys has set up in front of his desk in favor of squeezing himself into the school desk next to Angel, his glasses pushing up as he squints a small smile at her when she giggles. He looks fucking _ridiculous,_ hunched over with his big palms covering the surface of the desk, his legs basically sprawled out since he can’t actually bend his knees. Feeling strangely far away from them, Rhys grabs the papers he needs and rounds the desk, leaning back on it and crossing his ankles out in front of him. Jack waggles his eyebrows at the sight and Rhys sighs, the feeling that this is going to be a long year already setting in.

From there the meeting is almost routine; Jack is unexpectedly attentive once they start talking about Angel, not even really making a single lewd comment or offering up any innuendo. Instead he listens, nods, brows furrowed when he hears that “Angel is very bright, but she gets distracted easily and acts up sometimes in class. Though I suspect that’s at least partly because she’s bored with the curriculum.” He gives Jack the papers he has and crosses his arms over his chest. “I know it’s pretty early for this, but if she can learn to focus a little better, and maybe improve in certain subjects by the end of the year, I already think I could recommend that she be placed with the advanced group next year.”

Jack grins at that, reaching a hand out to ruffle Angel’s hair. She groans and bats his hand away and Jack chuckles, says, “That’s my girl.”

When he’s done with his spiel, Rhys shrugs. “And that’s pretty much it. Any questions?”

They all look at each other silently for a moment, and Jack rests a broad hand on Angel’s head. “Sweetheart, do you mind waiting outside while Daddy talks to Mr. Walker?” Rhys tries not to flush at the pet name that he suddenly remembers hearing in a very different context.

There’s a moment of tense silence as soon as Angel leaves the room, closing the door behind her, until Jack, his voice suddenly boisterous, says, “So _this_ is a thing, huh?” with absolutely _glee._

Rhys buries his head in his hands. “Please don’t.”

“You weren’t wearing glasses that night, were you?”

“No, I wasn’t,” Rhys flushes, his robotic hand rubbing at the back of his neck. “And neither were _you,_ for that matter.” Jack shrugs. “Besides, glasses aren’t exactly good for, y’know. Picking up strangers.”

Jack squints at him a moment, leaning back in the tiny desk. “Nah, I still would’ve hit it.”

“Oh my god,” Rhys says, rounding his desk again to begin packing his things. “Can we just not talk about this? Please?”

“No, no, c’mon! There’s _so much_ to talk about! Besides, if I remember correctly, you _like_ talking,” Jack says, grinning lasciviously. “Talking, being talked to, being pushed around a little…” He trails off, spacing out for a moment, and then shakes his head. “ _Man_ this is gonna be a fun year! I can’t _wait_ to bend—”

“Oh my god, we’re _not_ doing this, okay? We need to forget this ever happened and maintain a professional relationship. This is a major conflict of interest and I’m not risking my job over it, so if you could please just—” When Rhys looks up, Jack has spaced out, hunched forward in the tiny desk, and he grunts in frustration. “Are you even _listening_ right now?”

“Y’know, I’m trying to? I really am, I’m super interested in what you’re saying and all, but I can’t stop staring at your _mouth,_ cupcake, I mean _shit,_ you talk to kids all day with that mouth? That’s sick, man,” Jack rambles, leaning back in the desk again, but he sounds more pleased than disgusted.

Rhys’s eyes widen and he gapes, one hand stuffed into his messenger bag as Jack maneuvers out of the tiny desk, making his way into Rhys’s space. “Wha—what? I— _what?_ ”

“I mean I was kinda drunk, yeah, but don’t think I forgot, pumpkin,” Jack replies, suddenly _very_ close to Rhys, and he fucking _winks,_ the asshole.

“Alright, y’know what?” Rhys snaps, throwing his messenger bag shut and grabbing his cardigan off the back of his chair. “Fine. Just. Fucking _hell,_ it was _great,_ okay? Fucking fantastic, best sex I’ve ever had in my life—”

Jack interrupts with a grin and a nod, says, “alright” with a self-satisfied drawl under his breath as he leans into him. Rhys grunts, pushing his cybernetic arm through the sleeve of the sweater.

“But even if this wasn't already against the rules—which it _is_ —and even if I couldn’t lose my job—which I _could—_ you need to consider Angel, okay? She's in the middle of this and I really wanna recommend her for the advanced program, but no one's gonna take me seriously if they know I'm her dad's booty call, so just. Knock it off, alright?" he finishes, finally getting his flesh arm through the sleeve.

Jack actually backs off a bit at that, retreating from Rhys’s personal space as his eyes widen for a moment. “You’re kidding, right? No way it’s that serious.”

Rhys raises an eyebrow at Jack as he slips his bag over his shoulder. “Do you really feel like chancing it?”

Jack stands there with his shoulders slumped and a surprised look of concern on his face, says, “Nah, you’re…if it’s that much of an issue then just forget it I guess. Whatever’s best for her, and all that jazz,” he says, waving a flippant hand and pausing for a moment as he stares at the door, as though he can see Angel on the other side. “That’s pretty fucking dumb, though. What, do they not trust you all to do your jobs or something?”

Rhys offers him a sardonic smile as he unplugs his phone charger and stuffs it into his bag, checking the bag’s pockets for all three sets of his keys (classroom, _check_ ; car, _check_ ; house, _check_ ). “Yeah, you could say that,” he replies, pulling out his classroom key. “I mean, it must happen often enough to be—” He cuts himself off when he realizes that while Jack is looking at him, he’s spaced out again, eyes unfocused and mouth quirked into a smirk. Rhys huffs, resisting the urge to stomp like a child in his frustration. “Oh my god, what now?”

Jack blinks a few times and shakes his head, face completely serious when he says, “Huh? Oh, nothing, I just never thought I’d end up in a Van Halen song. You ever think about dancing up on tables and shit? That’d be pretty hot, not gonna lie.”

Rhys’s eyes widen and he grips his key in his flesh hand. “ _I’m leaving now!_ ” he says, loudly, pointedly, turning and making his way towards the door while Jack trails him, laughing and insisting that “It would, seriously! Just imagine, in some little short shorts, show off those legs?”

“No thanks!” Rhys squawks as he opens the door, flicking off the lights and gesturing for Jack to exit first.

“Ah, you’re no fun, cupcake. Not anymore, that is,” Jack says, making his way out into the hallway and waggling his eyebrows at Rhys. His entire demeanor changes, then, once he sets his eyes on Angel, swinging her legs back and forth in her seat as she plays a game on her 3DS. The lascivious grin is replaced by a genuine smile, and it’s almost like Rhys isn’t even _there_ when Jack says, “Heya, sweet pea, ready to go home?”

“Yeah, lemme save,” she says, standing but not looking up at Jack. Rhys squints at him suspiciously as he locks his classroom. Angel shuts her 3DS and tucks the stylus into its slot before reaching for Jack, lifting the hem of his jacket to tuck the device into his back pocket. Rhys swallows and wonders briefly how anything fits there, given how tight his jeans are.

Jack evidently catches him staring, because he winks as he takes Angel’s hand and says, “Good night, Mr. Walker,” and leads her to the visitor parking lot. Angel echoes the sentiment, turning her head to grin at Rhys and wave enthusiastically; Rhys returns the wave and watches them round the corner of the hall before letting his forehead fall against his door with a solid _thump_ and a sigh.

“Shit,” he mumbles, already counting the days until June.

* * *

 

 _Friday, September 18_  

Sasha’s laughter always manages to ring out over the music in the club, the music that Rhys can feel vibrating in his bones and somewhat uncomfortably in his mechanical arm. She doesn’t stop when he frowns at her, cheeks red with both alcohol and embarrassment, until she gasps out, “Oh my god, so hot dad guy actually _was_ a hot dad? _Is_ a hot dad?”

Yvette is quieter about her amusement, but she still smirks, eyebrow raised, as she says, “Called it,” and sips at her drink. When Rhys looks to Vaughn for support, he kind of just grimaces and shrugs, reaching out to pat Rhys’s shoulder.

Rhys just groans, because fuck his life and fuck his friends, too.

“So,” Sasha says, having finally caught her breath, now circling her straw in her drink and giving Rhys a mischievous look that already has him dreading whatever she’s going to say, “when you hook up with him again, are you gonna call him daddy or would that be too weird?” Out of the corner of his eye, Rhys sees Vaughn make a face and take a long pull from his beer.

“I’m _not_ gonna hook up with him again, fucking hell,” Rhys says, glaring at her. “That would just be— _so_ unprofessional.”

Yvette shrugs. “So was that thing you and Vaughn did with that robot in college, but it didn’t stop you then.”

Rhys and Vaughn both insist that “That was _one time_!” but Yvette doesn’t seem to care.

“Anyway, there’s more at stake here, okay?” Rhys continues. “There’s no way Angel’s getting into the advanced program if me and her dad are hooking up. It’s not a good look for any of us.” He sighs, stealing Vaughn’s beer and taking a few long sips, ignoring Vaughn’s _“Hey!”_ of protest. “Besides,” he goes on, “you know Vasquez is just _looking_ for a reason to fire me.”

“Yeah, well,” Vaughn says, looking forlornly at what’s left of his drink, “I still say he’s just mad because he wants to bone you and you’re not putting out.”

Yvette chuckles to herself as Rhys loudly says, “Thanks for that bro! _Really_ helpful.”

“No problem, bro,” Vaughn replies, smirking.

“Dang,” Sasha says across from Rhys. “Who knew having a dick in your ass could have such major consequences?”

“Hey!” Rhys interjects, flushing. “Who says _I_ was the one with the dick in my ass, huh?”

There’s a moment when no one says anything at all, the four of them glancing at each other. This time, when Sasha’s tinny laugh rings out, it’s joined by Yvette’s thundering one. Rhys glares at them both and again looks to Vaughn for support, but Vaughn only looks away quickly and flags down Fiona for another drink.

“Traitor,” Rhys mumbles, but when Vaughn buys him a drink as well, he starts to feel a little better, and, well. They weren’t _wrong,_ anyway.

They all hang out until last call, then stick around after closing while Sasha helps Fiona clean up the bar and close out the till even though it’s her night off. Finch and Kroger show up to clean up the rest of the club, bantering the entire time, and August throws on what he calls his Chill Playlist while he packs up his DJ equipment. Rhys, Vaughn, and Yvette have moved over to one of the bottle service areas to lie out on the couches. Rhys’s head lolls back and he closes his eyes, thinking about his first few weeks back at work and mentally making a To Do list that he knows he’ll forget by the time he gets home.

When he looks up, he sees Vaughn on the couch across from him, lying between Yvette’s legs, one of them curled up around his, making her skirt hike high up her thigh, which Rhys stares at openly. Vaughn is leaning against her, his back to her front, head pillowed on her chest while he dozes and she massages her nails against his scalp. When she catches Rhys staring, she smirks at him and raises an eyebrow.

“Coming home with us tonight?” she asks, one hand sneaking down to inch up under Vaughn’s shirt where it’s come untucked from his pants. From where Rhys is sitting he catches a glimpse of where her hand slides across Vaughn’s skin, and he hums.

He’s tempted, honestly. It’s been a long week, and he hasn’t spent a night with them in a while. He won’t quite admit out loud how much he misses living with them, but—“Nah, I think I’m going home. Kinda exhausted.” Vaughn sniffles in his sleep, and Rhys and Yvette’s eyes dart to him, both looking at him fondly. “Besides,” Rhys continues, quieter this time, “he doesn’t look like he’s up to it. You know how he gets when we play without him.”

Yvette laughs softly, the hand in Vaughn’s hair moving down to his cheek; Vaughn nuzzles her hand in his sleep and she smiles. “True. Perhaps another time. We’ll make a weekend of it.”

She gives him a mischievous look and Rhys shrugs, smirking. “I’ve got a long weekend in October.”

She nods as Vaughn begins to wake up, mumbling and looking startled for a moment as he glances around quickly, until he sees the two of them and relaxes again. “It’s a date,” Yvette says, nudging Vaughn to let him know that they’re leaving soon.

* * *

 

_Tuesday, September 22_

It’s been clear from the beginning that Angel is not an average kid, but it’s not until today that Rhys begins to suspect that something else might be going on. 

He’s split the class into groups for the afternoon to work on dioramas of different biomes. Angel’s group is working on the tropical forest biome, and she seems to have latched on to the idea of constructing models of trees that reflect how fast trees in the rainforest actually grow. She runs the idea by Rhys, who tells her that it’ll be great if she can get it done.

It’s just supposed to be an in-class project; they only have so much time to work on it. Yet when he returns to her group after making the rounds half an hour later, she’s _still_ working on the goddamn trees, and having a rough time with them, apparently. The rest of her group have painted a background, used pencil shavings to make up the forest floor, and begun constructing various animals out of clay, but Angel is fixated on her trees. The floor around her desk is littered with what are apparently failed prototypes, made with every building material she could get her hands on without leaving class. She’s working on what must be model number six, and by the looks of it, it’s not going well; she’s red-faced with frustration, grumbling under her breath every time it doesn’t work. She looks close to either crying or smashing it when Rhys finds her, crouching by her desk to be at eye-level with her.

“Hey Angel,” he says, calmly. “How’s it going?”

She doesn’t even look at him. “How do you _think_ it’s going,” she deadpans, still concentrating on her tree. Rhys’s eyebrows shoot up at her tone, one part of him surprised because she’s never spoken to him like that before, and the other noting that her inflection is vaguely familiar.

“Y’know, the growing trees are a great idea, but regular trees will be just as good,” he tells her quietly, feeling like he’s walking on eggshells but not entirely sure why.

“No, they won’t,” she insists. “They have to be perfect.”

Rhys is about to tell her that they really don’t, when of course, Vasquez chooses that moment to waltz into the classroom. The class says “Good afternoon, Principal Vasquez” in some attempt at unison, and Rhys sighs.

Vasquez does that a lot, is the thing—just drops in on classes at his leisure, uninvited and unannounced. There’s nothing wrong with that, necessarily, since he _is_ the principal and he can do stuff like that if he wants to, but he usually ends up visiting Rhys’s class more often than not. It would be one thing if he dropped in on everyone’s classes equally, but he doesn’t.

“Gimme one second, Angel,” he mumbles, then stands to talk to Vasquez. “To what do I owe the pleasure,” he says dryly.

“Oh, just checking in,” Vasquez says, a smug lilt to his voice. Rhys frowns. “Gotta keep you all on your toes, don’t I? Make sure you’re all working hard.” The way his eyes narrow and trail down to the mechanical arm makes Rhys shift in discomfort, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Sure, I guess,” he says quietly, watching Vasquez smirk and raise an eyebrow. “Well, we’re doing just fine here as you can see, so…” He trails off when he realizes Vasquez isn’t even paying attention, already wandering over to the tropical forest group, leaning in with his hands folded behind his back to inspect their work. Rhys shoots a worried glance at Angel and stops to talk to the arctic tundra group nearby, watching Vasquez out of the corner of his eye.

Rhys only looks away for a moment, he swears. Someone in the taiga group approaches him asking about cotton balls, and the next thing he knows, Angel’s voice seems to ring out above all the others and—

“I already _tried_ that, you idiot.”

Rhys directs the taiga girl to the supply shelves in the back of the room and immediately makes his way back to the tropical forest group, wincing at the way the low timber of Vasquez’s voice begins to rise in volume. “That’s no way to talk to your principal, Ms. Lawrence. I think we’ll have to go down to the office and call your father to let him know you’ll be staying after school for de—”

“Uh, Principal Vasquez?” Rhys chimes in, smiling nervously at the incredulous look Vasquez gives him. _Shit._ “Can I, uh. Talk to you? For a minute?”

“I’m kinda in the middle of something, Rhys.”

Rhys grinds his teeth and doesn’t even mention Vasquez using his first name in front of students, tilting his head towards the door instead. “I promise it’ll only take a second. It’s really important.”

Vasquez doesn’t look convinced at all, but he straightens up anyway, following Rhys into the hallway after taking a moment to glare at Angel. She doesn’t even notice him, too focused on crumbling up tree number six and getting started on number seven. Rhys almost loses his nerve once they get out into the hallway, robotic hand rubbing at the back of his own neck as Vasquez crosses his arms. “Listen, Vasquez— _Hugo,_ ” he says, and the corner of Vasquez’s mouth quirks up in the beginnings of a smirk. “Angel’s been having a rough afternoon. Do you think you could maybe? Go easy on her?”

Vasquez’s eyebrows shoot up on his forehead. “Go _easy_ on her? Did you hear what she said to me? I can’t let that kind of disrespect slide.”

“No, yeah, I get that, and—I’ll talk to her, okay? I’ll even get her to apologize, but detention seems a little excessive, don’t you think?” Vasquez doesn’t budge, and Rhys sighs, already swallowing down his distaste when he says “Please, Hugo? As a favor to me?”

Vasquez squints at him for a moment before his face breaks out into a wide grin as he leans one shoulder against the wall, eyes flicking down to Rhys’s mouth. “You’re real cute when you beg, Rhys.” He makes a show of sighing like he’s thinking really hard about something, the hand with the obnoxious gold pinky ring coming up to scratch at his beard, and Rhys has to once again bite his tongue. “Yeah, alright. I’ll settle for an apology. _If,”_ he says, pausing dramatically, “you have dinner with me this weekend.”

Rhys tries not to let his revulsion show, looking away as he says, “Oh, _this_ weekend? This weekend’s, uh. No good for me. Uh. Yeah.”

“Fine,” Vasquez insists, leaning in just a bit closer. “Next weekend. We’ll iron out the details later.” He reaches out to adjust Rhys’s tie where it tucks into his sweater vest, his hand lingering where he pats it flat when he’s done.

Rhys’s jaw tenses as he tries to figure out how he can get out of this, but he ultimately lets his shoulders slump and nods. “Alright. Next weekend. I’ll…go get Angel.”

He’s still thinking about Vasquez’s smarmy grin when he crouches by Angel’s desk again. She’s still working on prototype number seven, but the crease between her brows has softened and it finally looks like it’s coming along. “Are you sorry for calling Principal Vasquez an idiot?” he murmurs.

She still won’t look up at him. “No.”

“Why not?”

“Because he _is_ an idiot.”

Rhys bites his lip to hold back the laughter that threatens to spill out, nodding. “Okay, fair enough. Can you maybe… _pretend_ you’re sorry? Just for a minute? It would mean a lot to me.”

Angel finally does pause then, glancing over at Rhys, eyes searching his face. “…fine,” she says, kicking prototypes two and four when she gets out of her desk. “For you,” she clarifies, looking him in the eye. Rhys nods and leads her out into the hallway where Vasquez is waiting.

That afternoon, when Rhys is standing outside with his class waiting for their parents to pick them up, he glances up to see Jack waving at him from where he leans against his car. Rhys sighs, telling Angel that her father is there to pick her up, and watches her smile widely and run towards him, bounding into his arms. Rhys offers Jack a tired smile and a half-hearted wave and heads back inside to pack his things.

That evening, after he’s fed Gortys, changed into his comfiest sleep pants, and settled onto the couch for a _Chopped_ marathon, he wonders what compelled him to stick his neck out for Angel like that. He tells himself that it definitely wasn’t because of her father—and it _wasn’t,_ okay?—and thinks back on the curious way she fixated on those model trees.

Angel is smart. Incredibly so, actually. She does almost ridiculously well in math and science and history and even music, but has trouble with subjects like English and art. It’s only been a few weeks, but already Rhys has begun to notice things about her. Like the way she sometimes focuses _too much_ on certain things, often small, inconsequential ones, to the point where Rhys has a hard time getting her attention; yet at other times, he has trouble getting her to concentrate, having to coax her out of her daydreams. He thinks about the way she gets nearly perfect marks on all her quizzes and tests, but frequently has days when she can’t focus on her classwork for the life of her. He thinks about the way she gets frustrated with the way she often has difficulty articulating her ideas, the frankly terrifying state of her desk—

Rhys leans over to grab his laptop from the coffee table and pull it into his lap. After a few searches and articles, an idea begins to form; he checks the school directory for her former teachers’ phone numbers, and begins making calls.

* * *

 

_Thursday, September 24_

The first official PTA meeting of the year is two days later, and it’s barely just begun before Rhys starts to wish he was home already. 

Since it’s not even a full three weeks into the school year, this meeting is mostly about setting the stage for the rest of the year, and he’s not completely sure he really _needs_ to be here. So far all he’s done all evening is greet the parents of former students and chat with current parents who seem to think that schmoozing him will somehow have an effect on their kids’ success in his class (it won’t).

He’s talking with one such parent now, who’s particularly aggressive in the way they invite Rhys to… _something_ or other. Rhys isn’t paying attention so much as standing there, wide-eyed and anxious and actually hoping Vasquez starts his speech soon, when someone else gets his attention.

“Mr. Walker,” a voice says from somewhere to his left, and Rhys barely even registers who it belongs to before he turns to the person with a pleading look. “Sorry to interrupt,” Jack says, though the way he grins clearly says he’s not sorry at all. “I’ve just got a question about the matter we were discussing earlier.”

“Earlier?” Rhys asks, tilting his head in confusion. Jack shoots him a look that seems to say _just go with it, stupid,_ and Rhys’s eyes widen as he nods. “Oh, right! The, uh. Thing we were discussing. The very important thing.” He looks back at the other parent, who doesn’t seem amused, and says, “Sorry, you’ll have to excuse me, it was nice speaking with you again!” before following Jack to the other side of the room, closer to the refreshments table.

“Thanks for that,” he says, sighing and pouring himself a cup of coffee. Jack has grabbed a plate and is already beginning to stack it with various types of cookies.

“Never did much improv, huh kid?” he says, trying to find another jam-filled cookie.

Rhys frowns but bites back a snarky remark. “I didn’t expect to see you here,” he says instead, stirring sugar into his coffee.

“‘Course I’m here. I’m always here for this kinda stuff.”

“…I’ve literally _never_ seen you at a PTA meeting before.”

Jack pauses in his search for the jam-filled cookie and looks up at Rhys, waving the little plastic tongs around. “Alright, you got me. I thought I’d check it out.” He smirks and leans in a bit. “Especially now that I know there’s decent eye candy around.”

Rhys rolls his eyes, sipping at his coffee. “Are you like this with everyone, or just people you’ve hooked up with?” His eyes widen as another parent approaches to say hi, and he glares at Jack after she walks away.

“Nah, this is pretty much my default,” Jack replies, stuffing a cookie into his mouth and humming. “What about you?” he asks, mouth full, and Rhys tries not to be too grossed out. “You weren’t this uptight the first time we met.” He pauses to swallow, then grins again. “Well. I mean you _were_ tight, but not like _up_ tight, haha, get it? See what I’m doing here? I’m talking about your ass, sweet cheeks.”

Rhys flushes, glancing around quickly to make sure no one heard that. “Oh my god,” he deadpans, burying his face in his robotic hand.

Luckily at that moment, the sound of microphone feedback fills the room, followed by Vasquez’s voice welcoming everyone and beginning his spiel about excellence and understanding and all the other bullshit that Rhys knows he doesn’t actually care about. “God, these pastries are _shit,_ ” Jack mumbles before joining Rhys in watching from the refreshment table, listening quietly. “Man, what a dickbag,” he says under his breath after a moment.

Rhys lets out a quiet huff of a laugh. “You’re telling me,” he says under his breath.

“I mean, seriously,” Jack whispers, stepping closer to Rhys. “He’s wearing Versace. Who the hell wears a fifteen hundred dollar suit to work in a goddamn elementary school? It’s like wearing a ball gown to walk the dog, for shit’s sake.”

Rhys glances at him, eyebrows raised. “You know your suits, huh?”

“Of course I do, I’m not a goddamn animal,” Jack hisses, shoving two more cookies into his mouth at once. “And don’t even get me started on the hair plugs.”

Rhys actually chokes on his coffee at that, coughing and catching the attention of several parents and fellow teachers. He waves them off, coughing one more time before rasping, “Hair plugs? Seriously?”

“Oh yeah, big time,” Jack nods. “You can’t tell?” Rhys doesn’t even dignify that with an answer, instead filing the information away for later.

Once Vasquez finishes his speech, Rhys snaps his fingers, turning back to Jack. “Actually, I’m glad you’re here. I wanted to ask you...has Angel ever been evaluated?”

When he looks back, Jack has what looks like ten cookies stuffed in his mouth, and his reply of “What?” is muffled, crumbs spilling out.

“I’ll take that as a no,” Rhys says under his breath, stepping closer to Jack and speaking quietly. “I’ve been keeping an eye on Angel. I think she should be evaluated for ADHD.”

Jack…doesn’t take that well. He swallows his cookies and furrows his brows, speaking in low, threatening tones. “What are you saying, exactly? What, is she acting out or something? Giving you problems? A week ago you were singing her praises, now you’re saying there’s something wrong with her? What exactly are you getting at?” His voice begins to steadily climb in volume, attracting the attention of people around them, and Rhys glances around quickly, putting his coffee down on the table and resting a hand on Jack’s arm.

“Hey, c’mon, let’s talk somewhere else,” he says, gripping Jack’s arm and dragging him out of the room and into the hallway. Jack’s still glaring at him when they stop, and Rhys sighs. “Look. First of all, sorry about that. There were better ways…and times…and places to bring that up.” He winces, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Actually I didn’t really think that through at all,” he says with a nervous chuckle, to which Jack responds with a sort of _no shit_ expression. “So yeah. Sorry. But my point stands. I still think you should have Angel evaluated.”

Jack crosses his arms over his chest. “Yeah, I don’t think so. Angel’s always done really well in school. She behaves…for the most part. And I mean, sure, she’s got a lot of energy but she’s also fucking _eight._ ”

Rhys nods along with each point, then spreads his hands out in front of himself defensively. “Fair enough, but hear me out, alright? People hear ADHD and they think of screaming kids running around, throwing tantrums, doing bad in school, but that’s not always the case—it isn’t!” he insists when Jack shoots him a disbelieving look. “It presents differently, okay?”

Jack huffs. “Okay, so hypothetically, let’s say you’re right.” He uncrosses one arm to gesture at Rhys. “Then the whole,” he waves his hand around, “advanced stuff is off the table?”

“Not necessarily!” Rhys says, beaming, ready to show off all the research he’s done. “It’s entirely possible for her to be gifted _and_ have ADHD. It’s hard to tell in kids her age since usually they’re smart enough that the ADHD doesn’t pose too much of a problem at school _yet,_ but you’ve probably already noticed some stuff. Like…does she procrastinate? Lose her sense of time? Does she hyper-focus? Have trouble getting up in the morning? Is she a night owl?”

Jack’s frown deepens as the list goes on, and by the time Rhys is done Jack is rubbing at the back of his own neck. “Well yeah, but.” He shrugs. “I do all that stuff too. Always have, even as a kid.”

Rhys crosses his arms. “Well, this kind of thing tends to run in families. Soooo…” He lets that hang in the air between them, watching as Jack squints for a minute, almost seeing the gears turning in his head. His eyes eventually widen, brightening like he’s had a light bulb moment, and Rhys smiles at him softly.

“Whatever,” Jack says, scrubbing a hand down his face. “What happens now?”

“Um. I think now I just get in touch with the guidance office, they find a qualified professional to do the evaluation—”

“No no no,” Jack says, waving his hand again. “No strangers. I’ve got someone who can do it.”

Rhys pauses, raising an incredulous eyebrow. “You just _happen_ to know a child psychologist?” Jack’s only reply is to grin and shrug. “Okay, I guess. I’ll probably have to clear that with the guidance office, so—” He digs into his pocket for a pen and his moleskin, scribbling on a blank page before ripping it out and handing it to Jack. “there’s my number. Text me their info and I’ll pass it along to guidance.”

Jack takes the paper, glancing at it for a moment before stuffing it into his back pocket and wiggling his brows at Rhys. “Sure, pumpkin. Then I’ll send you a real nice dick pic.”

He’s not sure where it comes from, but instead of brushing off the comment or getting flustered about it, Rhys just rolls his eyes. “No need. Been there, done that.”

Jack raises his brows in delight, laughing and crowing, “Ooh, so kitten’s got claws, huh? Didn’t see that coming.”

Rhys laughs, crossing his arms again and leaning just a bit closer. “Yeah, well, maybe if I’d had use of my hands the first time we met, you’d have—”

He’s interrupted by the door next to them swinging open, both taking a step back to make room for Vasquez to join them out in the hall. “Rhys,” he says in greeting, and Rhys grits his teeth. Seriously, how hard is it to not call him by his first name in front of students and parents? “Getting awfully cozy out here. Shouldn’t you be mingling?”

Rhys gives him a sickly sweet smile, tilting his head to one side when he says, “Sorry _Hugo,_ I’m having a discussion with one of my parents.”

Vasquez looks at Jack as if seeing him for the first time, eyes widening in surprise. “Oh, Mr. Lawrence! I’m surprised to see you here. I never pegged you as the type to uh,” he pauses, shooting Jack a shark-like grin, “get involved.”

The glare Jack gives him is nearly lethal as he squares his shoulders, looking Vasquez in the eye as he clears his throat and says, “Yeah, well.” He glances at Rhys for the briefest of moments before he continues, “All that’s gonna change. I think you and _Mr. Walker,_ ” he says pointedly, “will be seeing a lot more of me from now on.” Rhys honestly can’t help the grateful smile he gives Jack at the use of the name; Vasquez apparently notices, looking between the two of them and bristling.

“…wonderful. Looking forward to it.” His smile is tight and forced when he focuses on Jack again; Rhys notes to himself that he’ll have to tell Vaughn about this later, because seeing Vasquez this ruffled (and possibly jealous?) is just hilarious.

“In fact,” Jack says, gesturing towards the door. “I’m gonna go find that sign-up sheet.” He focuses his attention on Rhys again, says, “I’ll send you that info ASAP, Mr. Walker. Excuse me.” He shoulders past Vasquez to rejoin the meeting, and Rhys watches him go; oddly, when Jack calls him Mr. Walker, there’s not a hint of sarcasm or malice or even mischief, the address almost more respectful than when Vasquez says it. Well—not almost. Definitely. He hears Vasquez huff next to him, and redirects his attention.

“Asshole,” Vasquez grumbles after Jack. He gives Rhys a sleazy grin then, leaning in. “So Rhys, about next weekend—”

Rhys doesn’t give him a chance to finish, gritting his teeth. “Actually, you were right, I should be in there making my rounds. Excuse me.” He slips past Vasquez to get at the door and rejoin the meeting. It’s winding down now, and Rhys takes a deep breath as he says goodnight to some parents on their way out. Looking around, he sees that Jack has apparently already left as well. Rhys finds his abandoned coffee still on the refreshments table, now cold and thick, and he sighs before tossing it into the trash.

* * *

 

  _Sunday, September 27_

That Sunday afternoon finds Rhys curled up on his couch, freshly showered and just getting over his hangover, making adjustments to his lesson plans for the week. His legs are folded beneath him, plan book resting on his thigh. Various papers are spread out on the couch next to him, mostly worksheets that he’ll need to make copies of tomorrow morning. 

It’s quiet in his apartment on Sundays—far quieter than it had ever been when he still lived with Vaughn and Yvette—which had taken some getting used to, but Rhys finds that he enjoys it now. He doesn’t even have music playing as he works, the only sounds in the room being his pen scribbling across the page and the whizzing of passing cars in the street below coming through the window, which is wide open to let in the warm breeze.

He often finds himself missing living with the two of them. On a Sunday like today, he’d have slept in before waking up to Vaughn grumbling from where he’d be sandwiched between Rhys and Yvette, untangling himself from their long limbs when his need for caffeine could no longer be ignored. The smell of coffee would then rouse Yvette, who’d pad into the kitchen in her lounge shorts and get to work on a few omelets. Rhys would be the last one out of bed, as usual, and charged with babysitting the waffle iron, watching sleepily for the green light to say one was done before serving it up and starting on the next one. Then they’d all settle in at the table to eat, Rhys and Yvette smirking at the sounds Vaughn made as he tore into his waffle. After a few minutes he’d glance up at them, syrup clinging to his lip, and mumble “Today’s my cheat day!” with a full mouth.

There’s been none of that today, and while Rhys does miss it—misses all of it, actually—there are perks to being on his own. One of those perks is lying on the arm of the couch right now, basking in the sunlight filtering in through the window. Gortys was sleeping when he last looked over, but now he hears a very quiet breathing sound followed by feet scuttling across the couch and over his papers. Rhys smiles to himself, clicking his pen shut and waiting for impact. Sure enough, the bearded dragon quickly climbs onto his lap, showing no regard for his work as she knocks the pen out of the way to settle on his flesh hand.

Rhys laughs, setting his plan book aside to pay attention to Gortys, fingers stroking along her beard and back. Oddly enough Vaughn is the one who’s not a fan of reptiles, leaving Rhys unable to have one until he’d moved out on his own. When Yvette and Vaughn had visited for the first time after he’d brought her home, Yvette had fawned over her while Vaughn sat stiffly a safe distance away, frowning every time she so much as opened her mouth.

After a few minutes his phone chirps at him from the coffee table, and Rhys gets Gortys settled onto his shoulder before reaching for it. It’s not a number he recognizes, but the message preview on the lock screen tells him all he needs to know.

 _guess who, cupcake,_ it reads, and apparently there’s an image attached. Rhys laughs out a groan, robotic hand dragging down his face, already expecting the worst. He’s about to thumb the message open when he pauses to look down at Gortys, using one metal finger to shield her eyes before he does.

The picture actually turns out to be surprisingly safe for work and, admittedly, adorable: it’s a selfie of Jack and Angel in what must be their kitchen, Jack grinning into the camera while Angel beams a toothy smile, holding a bowl and a handheld mixer that seem comically large in her hands.

A warm feeling blooms in Rhys’s chest at the sight, but he’s quick to smother it, shoving it as far down as possible until he can no longer feel it, because he literally can’t think of a worse idea than getting attached to them. He sends back a quick _Hello! :+)_ and saves the number on his phone, standing and leaving the living room to put Gortys back into her habitat. When he returns, he gathers up all his papers and slots them into his plan book, pausing to read the next message that comes in. It’s Jack again, this time with a name and a phone number; Rhys writes them down in his plan book before scrolling through his contacts for one of the school’s guidance counselors and dialing.

“Hey,” he says in greeting, “Yeah, I’ve got that info I was telling you about, the psychologist? Yup. Ready? The last name is K-A-D-A-M…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To my knowledge, I do not have ADD/ADHD; all information on the subject, particularly on its occurrence in gifted children, comes from research that I have done. If I've gotten anything wrong, please feel free to let me know, and I will make an effort to do better in upcoming chapters. Thank you!
> 
> Coming in **October** : evaluations; awkward not-dates; new friends; old friends; autumn & Halloween shenanigans.


	2. October

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, my deepest apologies for how late this is. October was a difficult month for me, so writing took a backseat quite a bit. Hopefully this long update makes up for it?
> 
> Secondly, thank you so much for all the feedback, love, and support on the first chapter! It means so much to me that you all are enjoying this.
> 
> Special thanks to [whatchamajig](http://whatchamajig.tumblr.com/) and [freejstrashbin](http://freejstrashbin.tumblr.com/) for the beta work!

_Saturday, October 3_

The “date” is…sadly not the worst Rhys has ever been on. But it’s not exactly going well, either. It _could_ be going well—the place is actually pretty nice, and Rhys makes a note to himself to bring the gang back here at some point—but, well. It’s hard to have a good time when you’re on an awkward forced date with your boss.

Your boss, who didn’t mention the dress code for the restaurant you were going to, and doesn’t seem to care that you’re uncomfortable with being  underdressed. Your boss, who went on and on about the fancy upholstery in his car (“It’s _Maltesian_ leather, Rhys, have some respect”) on the ride over. Your boss, who ignores your hissed request to “please stop snapping your fingers at the wait staff, Hugo, it’s _rude,_ ” and tells you to “calm down, they do this in Europe all the time,” before he continues snapping. (Rhys tells himself to look that up later and is not surprised to find that Vasquez is an asshole on at _least_ two continents.)

Rhys will begrudgingly admit that the food is actually great—great enough that he stops grumbling about Vasquez ordering for him—as is the wine that he insists pairs best with it. Hell, even Vasquez’s stories about his time abroad would be interesting if, y’know. Maybe he wasn’t such a smug dick about it, bragging and always trying to one-up Rhys.

They’re about half done with the braised Swiss chard when the guy walks in, but Rhys doesn’t notice him at first, too busy thoroughly enjoying the appetizer. Out of the corner of his eye he sees the guy leaning out of his seat, squinting as he stares directly at them. Rhys frowns, setting his fork down to roll his right sleeve back down to his wrist and rest his robotic hand on his knee under the table. Normally he wouldn’t care about people being assholes about his arm, but he’s really not in the mood tonight. He picks up his fork and gets back to the Swiss chard before Vasquez makes it disappear, choosing to ignore the guy’s staring.

Somewhere between the chard and the spanakopita, the guy decides he hasn’t gotten a good enough look from where he’s sitting; he stands and begins making his way toward their table. Vasquez is going on about a summer he spent on Naxos, but Rhys tunes out, feeling anxiety rise into the base of his throat as he prepares for the confrontation. He’s just getting ready to say something when the guy approaches and…ignores him completely, actually, instead turning his dodgy grin on Vasquez.

“Vasquez? Hugo Vasquez?” he asks, with a weird lilt to his voice that Rhys doesn’t trust.

Vasquez’s eyes widen when he looks up at the guy. “Oh, Brady. Hello.”

Brady’s whole face lights up and he claps a hand on Vasquez’s shoulder. “Holy shit, it _is_ you. I thought it was, but I couldn’t really tell with uh, well. Y’know,” he says, grinning and gesturing at his own head. Somehow Vasquez’s eyes widen more, darting quickly to Rhys before looking back up at Brady.

“Yes, I can…see how that might be confusing,” Vasquez says, tone stiff. Rhys frowns, not used to his boss looking quite this uncomfortable.

Brady laughs, kind of obnoxiously, actually. “Hey, got a minute?” He doesn’t wait for a reply, already reaching for an empty chair at a neighboring table and pulling it up to theirs, unbuttoning his jacket as he plops down into it with a wide sprawl. “Man, how long’s it been? I think the last time I saw you was in…what? Undergrad?” He whistles, leaning back in the stolen seat. Vasquez only nods with a stiff sort of smile, looking for all the world like he wants nothing more than for this guy to go away, and Rhys can’t say he disagrees.

Vasquez opens his mouth to say something, but he’s immediately cut off—“I’m sorry, I can’t get over the _hair,_ I mean, is it real?” Brady once again doesn’t wait for a reply, leaning forward with one hand reached out to touch.

Vasquez is quick to lean away, says, “What? Of—of course it is,” his voice cracking a bit with a nervous chuckle. “Listen, Brady, I’m kinda…” He tilts his head towards Rhys, raising an eyebrow that clearly tells Brady to take the hint and go away.

Brady finally looks over at Rhys then, grinning again. “Oh, I see.” He offers Rhys his right hand to shake as he introduces himself, but there’s no way Rhys is letting this guy touch his metal hand. Instead he offers Brady a tight-lipped smile and a stiff wave with his flesh hand. Brady barely even seems to notice, shrugging and turning back to Vasquez.

“Seriously, Hugo, get a load of you. Nice suit, by the way. Big step up from ratty old Air Supply t-shirts with pit stains, huh?” He throws his head back, laughing, and Vasquez looks away, picking at an invisible thread on his jacket. Brady turns back to Rhys, leaning in and stage whispering, “You should’ve seen him. Kid used to sweat like a pig. But then again he was probably twice this size, so. Oh! And _balding._ At _22._ It was the weirdest shit.” Rhys winces, remembering Jack’s mention of hair plugs, and continues to sit still and quiet, not sure where to look or what to say. “Oh man, you should’ve seen him during rush week. The stuff we got him to _do,_ I mean. In retrospect it was kinda sick, we knew he wanted in so bad, but hey, water under the bridge, right Hugo?” He grins at Vasquez, who mostly looks like he’s going to be sick. “I think I’ve still got some pictures on Facebook…” Brady says, trailing off as he fishes his phone out of his inner pocket.

“Y’know, Brady,” Vasquez squawks from his side of the table, sweat beading at his hairline. Rhys should be enjoying this, really, given how often Vasquez relishes in every opportunity to make him squirm, but…somehow this seems almost excessive. “It’s great seeing you and all, but Rhys and I really are in the middle of something, so…” If Rhys didn’t know better he’d say that was a pleading look on his face.

Brady pauses from where he’s scrolling through Facebook photos, eyes darting between the two of them. His eyes land for a long second on Rhys, who shrugs with a faux-apologetic head tilt, and Brady grins again, pocketing his phone. “Yeah, I should probably get back to the ball and chain anyway,” he says, standing and reaching into his pocket to pull out a business card. “Seriously though, Hugo, let’s catch up.” He leaves the card on the table by Vasquez’s glass, and gives Rhys a nod before heading back to his own table.

He leaves behind the chair he’d pulled up, along with a strange sort of tension. Vasquez is quiet, never finishing his story about Naxos, instead tapping a finger against the card on the table and frowning. Their waitress brings dessert over, some kind of cake and light purple ice cream with tiny lavender flowers on top, along with two small cups of coffee. She sets it down in front of them curtly, and even after she walks away neither Rhys nor Vasquez move to eat any of it.

After a long moment, Vasquez swallows, quietly says, “The, uh. Karidopita is my favorite.” He frowns, looking down at the card again. “You should eat the ice cream before it melts. Excuse me.” He gets up abruptly, heading briskly toward the bathrooms. It takes Rhys another long minute before he shrugs and picks up his spoon, digging in. Unsurprisingly, it’s really fucking good.

Vasquez is gone for a while, not coming back until after Rhys has eaten all of their dessert. The smell of cigarette smoke clings to his suit as he signals for the check—without snapping his fingers—and pays the bill quickly, quietly. The ride home is just as tense, Rhys tapping out a rhythm on his knees and trying to think of what to say as they navigate through Saturday night traffic.

They double park in front of Rhys’s building and Vasquez still doesn’t say anything, not even a sleazy line about being invited in for “coffee.” Rhys opens and closes his mouth a few times, words escaping him, before he finally settles on “Thanks. Hugo.” Vasquez only nods in reply, and Rhys frowns. “Uh. See you Monday,” he mutters, climbing out of the car and walking briskly back into his building. He texts Vaughn to let him know that he’s home, then changes into sleep pants before feeding Gortys a few crickets and setting his arm to charge. When he lies down and reaches for his phone to set an alarm for the next morning, Vaughn’s reply is waiting: _howd it go?? :0_

Rhys doesn’t answer, setting his alarm and plugging in his phone.

* * *

_Sunday, October 4_

Rhys isn’t sure _what_ he was expecting the child psychologist to be like, but Dr. Nisha Kadam certainly isn’t it.

Sunday morning found Rhys shutting off his alarm and rolling over onto his back, staring at his ceiling with a whispered “Dear god, _why_ ” as he wiped dried, crusted drool from the corner of his mouth.

By 9, he was already in the guidance office, leaning heavily against Aurelia’s desk and regretting everything. “Did it _have_ to be a Sunday?”

Aurelia shrugs, somehow mostly awake as she gathers various forms and records. “It’s the only day she’s free, apparently.”

Blake’s face is somehow more gaunt and sullen than usual when he walks in, a massive cup of coffee in hand. “This is inhumane,” he grumbles, scowling at Aurelia. “Just couldn’t schedule this at a reasonable time, could you?”

“Good morning to you as well, Jeffrey,” Aurelia replies, not looking at him as she claps the edges of the papers in her hand against her desk to straighten them. She stuffs them into a folder and hands that to Blake, who huffs as he takes it and begins flipping through the documents within, while Aurelia starts over with another folder.

Blake’s brows creep together, exaggerating the lines on his forehead as he combs through the facts and figures in the folder. “Her test scores are impressive,” he says quietly, turning a page and frowning. “Her language skills could use some work, though. She’s eight?”

Rhys nods. “December birthday, I think. And she only struggles that much with subjects she’s not interested in. That was…kinda one of the things that tipped me off. It’s not that she _can’t_ do it, she just…” He trails off, shrugging. “Can’t focus long enough to get it done.”

“Well be that as it may,” Blake says, shutting the folder, “she’ll need to work on it if she’s going to keep up in Advanced.” He looks up at Rhys, brows furrowed, and says, “Are you sure this is even a good idea for her?”

“Well that’s partly what we’re here to figure out, isn’t it?” Rhys shrugs. “Or, uh. What you two and Dr. Kadam are here to figure out, anyway.” He glances at his watch, frowning. “She’s supposed to be here by now, isn’t she?”

“Present,” someone says, as if on cue, from the doorway. She looks far too put together for this early on a Sunday morning, all composed in her knee-high riding boots, dark fitted jeans, and leather jacket over a t-shirt that reveals a couple of inches of scarred dark skin as she walks, the sleek black bob of her hair bouncing with each step. Rhys tries to push down his initial thought of “Please step on me,” but out of the corner of his eye he can see that he’s not alone—Blake is also looking on with a kind of wide-eyed awe, and even Aurelia has slowed down in putting her file together, trying to seem casual but clearly playing close attention.

The woman stops in front of Rhys and offers her hand; Rhys shakes it and, on finding that her palm is rough and her grip is strong, he’s both surprised and not. She’s beautiful, yes, but not in a soft way; she moves fluidly but there’s definitely a hardness to her that Rhys finds himself drawn to.

“Nisha,” she says by way of introduction. “Dr. Kadam if you’re good,” she adds with a wink.

Rhys swallows, eyes wide as he says, “Rhys Walker, Angel’s teacher.” Nisha smiles with a knowing look in her eyes, which Rhys ignores in favor of introducing his colleagues. “Aurelia Hammerlock, one of our guidance counselors. I think you’ve already spoken.” Nisha and Aurelia shake hands and look at each other with a slight nod and the sort of understanding that Rhys supposes only poised, gorgeous people have with each other (not that he would know). “And Dr. Jeffrey Blake, director of both our Advanced and Special Education programs.” Nisha raises her brows at that.

“Both? Sounds like a lot for one person.”

Blake shrugs and actually gives her a wry, lopsided smile; Rhys has to try to not let his disbelief be too obvious. “Cutbacks. You know how it goes.”

Nisha just hums in reply. “Ms. Hammerlock, would you happen to have one of these for me?” she asks, gesturing to the folder in Blake’s hands. Aurelia doesn’t answer verbally, instead clapping her papers together and stuffing them into a folder before handing them to Nisha. “Thank you, ma’am,” Nisha says with a facetious grin—not that Aurelia seems to mind.

“So uh,” Rhys says, pausing to clear his throat and hide the way his voice cracks, “how does this work? Exactly?”

“Well,” Nisha says with a sigh, tucking the folder under her arm, “since it’s not exactly a thing I can do a blood test for, it’s mostly just lots and lots of talking. Interviews with parents, family, teachers, and of course Angel herself. The three of us,” she says, gesturing a manicured hand between herself, Aurelia, and Blake, “put our heads together to discern if there is a problem. And depending how that goes, we rule out _other_ possible problems.” Nisha tilts her head, her tone almost tired as she finishes, “And depending how _that_ goes, we start treating.”

Rhys looks on with wide eyes and no one says anything, as if it’s only just setting in how long and arduous this process is going to be. “On that note,” Nisha says to Aurelia and Blake, “I’ll see you both in a bit. In the meantime, Mr. Walker, could you show me your room? I’d like to have a look at Angel’s desk.”

“Oh! Yeah, sure. Let’s, uh. This way,” Rhys stutters, pushing out of his lean on Aurelia’s desk and gesturing to the door. Nisha matches his stride easily, walking beside him with a cool, measured confidence that Rhys admittedly envies. They’re quiet at first, which makes him nervous as he struggles to come up with something to say. Finally when he opens his mouth to speak, Nisha beats him to the punch.

“So _you’re_ Rhys, huh? I’ve heard good things.”

Heat rises to Rhys’s cheeks at that. Good things? From whom, exactly? Good things from Jack and good things from Angel would be…two _very_ different things. Or what if she’d heard from Aurelia? Rhys has no clue what she’d say about him, but then again maybe he does—she looks at him, sometimes, like he’s a small, frightened animal that needs to be coaxed, which…is fair, actually. Rhys is always like this with sharp, snarky, confident women (which is apparently every woman he knows, because fuck his life); he doesn’t want to say they intimidate him, but…they do. In a good way, though, if that makes any sense. The kind of way that makes him want to roll over and show his belly. (Which isn’t weird at all, okay? It’s _not._ ) In any case, the first week he’d known Yvette he’d barely said a word to her, mostly too flustered to even look her in the eye when she cocked that sharp brow at him. Nisha seems to be no exception to the rule. “Um. Thanks? I think?”

Nisha chuckles. “Jack was right, you’re very cute.” And despite his nerves, Rhys just has to laugh at that, rolling his eyes because _of course_ Jack would say that.

She finally asks about Angel, then, skimming through the folder Aurelia had given her, and they talk until they reach Rhys’s classroom. He gives her the tour (or as much of a tour as one can give of a single room), and Nisha…promptly squeezes herself into Angel’s desk, legs sprawled out in front of her. Rhys laughs quietly in disbelief; it’s comical, sure, but somehow she still doesn’t look nearly as ridiculous as Jack did. She leans over to dig through the compartment underneath the seat, pulling out a few mangled books and crumpled papers, and not a small amount of trash as well. Rhys frowns at the mess on his floor as Nisha begins opening notebooks and unfolding papers, scanning the contents with furrowed brows.

After a while she maneuvers out of the tiny desk, leaving the mess there and coming to stand by Rhys where he leans against his own adult-sized desk. “So what tipped you off exactly? This kind of thing’s not easy to spot, especially in kids as smart as Angel.” Rhys nods, recounting what he’d already told Jack and Aurelia, ending with the tree incident.

“Then there’s—” he says, stopping abruptly when he remembers the Vasquez situation. Nisha, who has been rounding the desk and is now pausing with one hand on the arm of Rhys’s chair, peers over at him across the desk.

“And?” she prompts, brow raised, and Rhys shrugs. “Rhys, I need you to tell me everything you can. It’s important.”

Rhys sighs, taking off his glasses so he can scrub a hand down his face. “She’s got, uh. Some problems with authority,” he finally tells her, using the hem of his shirt to wipe the lenses clean. “Not with me, we’re fine, but. We had a bit of an altercation with Principal Vasquez a few weeks ago.” He keeps tight-lipped about the consequences.

Nisha hums. “Is that all?” she asks, like she already knows it’s not, but she doesn’t push it after Rhys nods. She drops herself heavily into Rhys’s chair, then, scooting forward to rest her elbows on the desk as she opens up Angel’s folder again. This time she looks closely at each document, fully engrossed as she flips through the pages and Rhys begins to fidget. Without looking up at him, she gestures to Angel’s desk. “Do me a favor and organize that,” she says offhandedly. “And let me know how Angel reacts tomorrow. I’ll leave you my personal number later.”

Rhys huffs but gets to work, cleaning out the last bits of trash from Angel’s desk and stacking the books in their compartment with the biggest at the bottom. He looks through the papers and crumples the inconsequential stuff, smoothing out important ones to put them in a folder while Nisha flips through her file quietly. When he’s just about done and has tossed out the last of the trash, he turns to her again. “So,” he says, hands on his hips. “When do we get started?”

“Hm?” Nisha hums, not looking up. “Oh, we already have. You’ve been _very_ helpful.” When she does look up, she stretches a hand toward Rhys. “Do you have a copy of those formed I asked you to fill out? The Vanderbilt ones?” Rhys nods, digging into his bag to pull them out and hand them over. She looks them over with a “hmph,” then shoves them into her folder as she stands. “Okay, Jack and Angel should be here now so we can head back.”

“Wait, is…is that it? That can’t be all I have to do.”

Nisha shakes her head, crossing her arms, the file dangling from her fingers. “Oh, it’s not. If my hunch is right—and it’s rarely wrong—we’re far from done. And it probably won’t be easy.” She gives Rhys an appraising look then, saying, “You in this for the long haul, Rhys?”

And Rhys..hadn’t even thought about it, really, and he barely needs to now, but—“Yes. Absolutely.”

Nisha smiles at him, but there’s something behind it that makes Rhys think he’s passed a test—though he’s not totally sure for what, or if that’s a good thing.

-

When they get back to the guidance office, Jack and Angel are indeed already there. Angel is talking animatedly to Aurelia, who only seems to be listening with a detached sort of polite interest, and Jack looks on quietly, frowning. Blake isn’t there, but as soon as Rhys and Nisha enter, Aurelia gets on the phone to tell him that they’re ready.

Jack’s face brightens when he sees them, and he immediately reaches for Nisha, arms outstretched and hands aiming for her waist. She stops him with a palm flat against his chest, pushing him away. “Not while I’m on the clock,” she says quietly, with a smirk and a warning tone. Jack rolls his eyes but backs off until he sees Rhys and the grin returns to his face, his glasses and the ends of the scar rising with his cheeks.

“Heya, Rhysie,” he says, also sounding far too lucid for this early on a Sunday morning.

“Hi Jack,” Rhys mumbles, watching the way Angel’s face splits into a wide grin when she sees Nisha, calling her name as she darts across the office to hug Nisha’s waist.

“Hey kid,” Nisha says softly, carding a hand through Angel’s hair. “Do you know what you’re here for?” At Angel’s shrug, she crouches to talk to her face-to-face. “We’re just gonna talk, okay? Just you and me and Ms. Hammerlock and Mr. Blake.”

Angel nods, face blank. “Okay” is all she says, but she’s a smart girl—it’s clear she knows something else is going on.

Nisha stands and takes Angel’s hand in hers before looking back at Jack and Rhys. “You all can leave now. I’d rather you weren’t standing out here the whole time.”

Jack frowns and opens his mouth like he’s going to say something, but Nisha’s raised eyebrow seems to effectively silence him. Rhys tries to school the awe out of his expression as Nisha smiles at them both, says “See you boys in a couple hours,” and leads Angel to another room off of Aurelia’s office, Aurelia not far behind.

“You look like hell, cupcake. Long night?” Jack asks on their way out into the hall, passing Blake as he rushes back in.

Rhys shrugs. “I don’t wanna talk about it.”

“Not even if I buy you coffee?” Jack asks, leaning against the wall by the doorway, and Rhys chuckles.

“The last time you invited me somewhere for coffee—”

“You had the best night of your life, I was there, remember? I’m talking real coffee this time.” Rhys hesitates, looking down at his robotic arm. “What, you got somewhere better to be for the next two hours?”

Rhys looks back up at Jack with a shrug and a tired smile. “Guess not.”

-

The way Jack takes his coffee is absolutely disgusting.

He has the nerve to balk at Rhys’s iced vanilla cappuccino (“Is there any actual coffee in there?”) but when they sit down Rhys can barely stop himself from wrinkling his nose in disgust at the way Jack pours an absolutely obscene amount of sugar into his black coffee. He keeps stirring but Rhys can only imagine the way it must keep settling back into a sugary, goopy mess at the bottom of the cup.

“So seriously, what happened last night that’s got you all sour?”

Rhys sighs, stirring his straw around his cappuccino. “Bad date I guess.”

Jack tilts his head and squints. “Bad? Bad how? Cheap date? Smelled bad? Lousy lay?”

“Jesus, Jack,” Rhys hisses, glancing around at the other café patrons. “It was one date, I didn’t fuck him,” he whispers, leaning in so only Jack will hear.

Jack grins, resting his elbows on the table to lean in as well. “You fucked _me_ after one date.”

“Okay, that wasn’t a date, and anyway, that was different and you know it.”

“You mean _I_ was different.”

Rhys rolls his eyes, leaning back in his seat. “Don’t flatter yourself,” he says as he brings his straw to his lips.

“Oh, I’ll flatter myself all I want,” he says with a laugh before leaning in impossibly closer, his voice lowering as he continues, “You ever _flatter_ yourself, sweetheart? Maybe think of me while you do it?” He wiggles his brows then, and watches Rhys begin to gather his things.

“I’m leaving,” Rhys says abruptly, already beginning to stand.

“No no, c’mon,” Jack laughs, reaching a hand out to grip Rhys’s flesh arm and pulling him back down into his chair. “I’m just messing with you. Mostly.” He pauses, finally sitting up again. “But seriously, I can pretty much guarantee, no bad dates with me.” He shoots back the last of his coffee and Rhys imagines the goopy sugar again, frowning.

“Somehow I doubt that,” Rhys says quietly. “And anyway, Jack, we can’t. We already talked about this.”

“Yeah, I know, kiddo. But,” Jack says with a shrug. “I gotta ask anyway. I like watching you get all flustered.”

As much as Rhys hates himself for it, he _does_ get flustered, cheeks going pink and hands folding themselves in his lap. “Well. That’s. Uh…” He looks up at a smirking Jack and shakes his head. “Anyway. Do you and Angel already know Dr. Kadam? You all seemed pretty, uh. Familiar.”

“Nisha? Oh, yeah, we’re real close. Go _way_ back,” Jack replies, looking away and smiling as he seems to get lost in a memory.

A warm flare of something that Rhys _refuses_ to call jealousy rises in his throat. “Isn’t that a conflict of interest then?”

“Not any more than you and me, kitten,” Jack tells him with a wink.

“ _Jack._ ”

“Calm down, alright? Nisha’s a professional. She’s not gonna let personal shit get in the way of doing her job.”

“Well,” Rhys says, straightening, “I hope that’s the case.”

Jack shoots him a cocky grin, slinging one arm around the back of his own chair. “Why, you jealous, Rhysie?”

“ _No,_ ” Rhys insists, pushing that stupid feeling down again, “I just wanna make sure Angel doesn’t get caught in the middle of anything. Be sure she’s getting what she needs,” he says earnestly, looking away when Jack won’t stop staring.

Jack pauses at that, his face sobering as he considers Rhys. “You really give a shit, don’t you? Like you actually care what happens to her.”

“Yeah? Why wouldn’t I?” Rhys asks with a confused frown.

Jack’s phone rings before he can reply. Rhys pulls his glasses off and wipes them down with a napkin while Jack takes the call, answering with a few sparse words before hanging up. By the time he puts them back on Jack has hung up and is back to staring at him, this time squinting as though he’s trying to figure out some kind of puzzle.

“What?” Rhys asks, shifting under Jack’s gaze.

“Just thinking you should’ve worn your glasses that night.” A beat, and then— “Then again maybe not. I probably would’ve tried to jizz all over ‘em.”

“ _Jack._ ”

-

“Inattentive type” is what Nisha calls it when they get back to the school. “Combined type is most common, but she doesn’t show any signs of hyperactivity or impulsivity, so. Inattentive Type ADHD.”

Rhys nods, arms folded across his chest. “So what do we do?”

Nisha shrugs, mimicking Rhys’s pose. “For now, nothing. She presents as inattentive, but she’s also exhibiting signs of anxiety. That could just be tied to the ADHD, but given the family history,” she continues, and out of the corner of his eye Rhys thinks he sees Jack stiffen for just a moment, “I’m gonna need to screen for other possible disorders so we can rule everything else out. Usually we also do vision and hearing checks just to cover all our bases, too. A quick scan to get a good look at her brain wouldn’t hurt either, if we can get it.”

Rhys’s eyes widen at that. “A brain scan? That seems…a little excessive, doesn’t it?”

Nisha shakes her head. “Look, if we’re gonna work on this, I need to be sure of exactly what I’m dealing with. If there’s even a chance it could be something else, I need to rule it out as best I can. That’s the only way we can figure out what course of action to take.”

The room is quiet for a moment, thick with tension that Rhys has no desire to be a part of. Nisha watches Jack who watches his shoes with a deep frown, staying oddly silent given his demeanor at the café.

“Okay. Well, uh. If that’s all then I’m just gonna…” Rhys points a thumb at the door behind him, already backing out of the room. “Bye,” he says quickly, leaving the room and taking a moment to stand outside in the hall and adjust his bag on his shoulder again. From here he can just barely hear Nisha saying something along the lines of “Need me to take her?” and a deep sigh followed by Jack saying “Yeah, that…yeah. Take her.” Rhys retreats down the hall, passing the guidance office where Angel is sitting quietly and swinging her feet back and forth, and when he reaches his car he’s still surprised by how tired Jack sounded.

-

“I made Dad mad,” Angel says, taking a bite of her grilled cheese sandwich. She’s on the edge of the vinyl-upholstered booth in the diner, sitting across from Nisha, who looks up from her patty melt to raise an eyebrow in Angel’s direction.

“Why do you say that?”

Angel shrugs, chewing slowly. “I think I said something wrong before,” she says, mouth half full. “When I was talking to you and Ms. Hammerlock.” She wrinkles her nose. “And Mr. Blake.” She finally swallows, looking up at Nisha. “Did I say something wrong?”

“Not at all,” Nisha tells her, shaking her head. “Your dad’s just dealing with his own stuff. You know he acts funny sometimes.” She dips a fry into ketchup and watches Angel think that over as she finishes her sandwich.

Finally, after downing her juice, Angel sets the cup back down and stares at the surface of the table. “There’s something wrong with me, though. With my brain. Isn’t there.” She twirls the cup in her hand and watches the way the sunlight coming in through the window shines through it and shines blue on the table.

Nisha does pause at that, putting her own sandwich down and lowering her voice. “Angel,” she says, leaning forward, though Angel doesn’t budge. “Angel, look at me.

“There is absolutely nothing wrong with you, okay?” she says solemnly when Angel finally looks her in the eye. “Your brain might work differently, but that’s all it is—different. There’s nothing _wrong_ about it. Is that clear?” Angel nods, her face blank; she doesn’t understand yet, but Nisha hopes she will, eventually. “Good,” Nisha says anyway, picking up her sandwich again. “Don’t let anyone tell you different.” She finishes her food and orders ice cream after, winking at Angel, who finally smiles in return.

-

“Heya, kiddo. Banana bread this week, right?” is the first thing Jack says when Nisha drops Angel off back at home, though the overripe bananas on the counter make it clear he already knows the answer. He looks happy, but his hair is all messed up like he’s been touching it a lot, the way he does when he’s frustrated. Angel doesn’t tell him that, though, just nods and runs to her room to change into an old t-shirt.

While Angel is creaming together butter and brown sugar and Jack is cutting up the bananas, he looks over at her with a frown. “Y’alright?”

“Yeah,” Angel says tiredly, turning up the speed on the hand mixer.

“You sure?”

Angel shrugs, but doesn’t answer until after they’ve blended the eggs and mashed bananas and have begun adding the flour. “Dad, does...does your…brain? Work differently? From other people’s?”

Jack’s hand pauses where he’s folding the flour in, and Angel stops pouring until he gestures for her to continue. After a moment he sighs, “Yeah, sweet pea, it does.”

“How?”

He drags a hand down his face, skewing his glasses and sighing. “Here, take this,” he tells her, handing her the spatula to finish folding. While Jack reaches into a high cabinet to get the loaf pan, Angel finishes the folding and gets the cooking spray.

“I’ve got some stuff,” he says as she greases the loaf pan, “that makes me…think about myself a lot. Instead of other people.” She doesn’t miss the way he cringes at his own wording, and can’t shake the feeling that there’s a lot he’s not telling her. “So I gotta try harder to ‘relate to others’ so I can have more ‘rewarding relationships.’” He makes air quotes as he says it and actually sounds sort of…bitter, really.

“Oh,” Angel says quietly, grabbing the bowl. Jack holds its steady while she empties its contents into the loaf pan. “Is that bad?”

He doesn’t say anything to that as he takes the pan over to the pre-heated oven and slides it onto the rack before closing it. She resigns herself to not getting an answer, instead moving her stool over to the sink, as she usually does, to begin washing the dishes they’ve used. Jack passes her the bowl and the beaters from the hand mixer and she gets to work. When she reaches for the spatula, he quickly swipes the flat side over her nose, smearing banana batter on it.

“You got something on your nose, kiddo,” he says, and when she can’t help but laugh, he smiles and hands her the spatula and a towel.

* * *

_Friday, October 9 - Monday, October 12_

“Hey Vaughn, want me to butter your muffin?”

“Very funny, asshole,” Vaughn calls from the living room, where he’s on his bike with cartoons playing in the background. “Seriously, if there aren’t any waffles when I get there, there will be blood.

Rhys laughs and flips the next waffle onto a plate, sliding it down the counter to Yvette, who’s dealing with the eggs. When she deems them ready she takes them off the heat and scoops some onto the plate next to the waffle. She holds the plate out near the doorway, and within moments Vaughn is there, towel around his neck as he as he grabs the plate on his way to the table.

He’s already done with his eggs and is working on his waffle by the time Rhys and Yvette join him, sitting on either side of him. Yvette drops some fresh berries onto her waffle and passes them to Vaughn to do the same, both pausing to watch Rhys absolutely smother his own waffle in strawberry syrup and wrinkling their noses at the sight.

“You stink,” Yvette says to Vaughn after a while, gesturing to his still-sweaty bare torso. “Do something about this.”

“I don’t know,” Rhys tells her, eyeing Vaughn’s chest, “I think the view kinda makes up for the smell.” Vaughn wiggles his brows in reply, flexing subtly.

“First of all,” Yvette says, pointing one finger at Rhys, “no. And secondly, Vaughn, I’ve already said no flexing at the table about a hundred times.”

“Mhm,” Vaughn hums as he downs his orange juice. “Yes ma’am.” He stands with his empty plate and glass, leaning down to peck Yvette’s cheek. “Thank you.”

He nearly makes it away from the table before Rhys asks, “What, none for me?” with a pout.

Vaughn rolls his eyes. “Jeez, I forgot how needy you are.” But he’s smiling as he leans in, so Rhys doesn’t take him too seriously, quickly turning to capture Vaughn’s lips with his own instead of settling for the cheek kiss. Vaughn hums a laugh against his mouth, biting his lower lip before pulling away to take his dishes to the sink.

Rhys watches him go, rubbing at his cheek where Vaughn’s beard has grazed him. “I am _really_ digging the beard,” he says to no one in particular, and Yvette huffs.

“Don’t let him hear that, he’s already got an ego about it.” Rhys smiles, taking the last few bites of his drenched waffle, only looking up when Vaughn calls out from the hall.

“I’m gonna shower,” he says, already untying his hair from its loose bun as he walks to the bathroom, Rhys watching his retreating back with wide eyes.

“Go,” Yvette says, getting up and stacking Rhys’s plate on top of hers. “I’ll be there in a minute.” Rhys beams at her, quickling standing and getting an arm around her waist to kiss her, careful not to jostle the plates in her hand while her free hand comes up to tangle in his hair.

“Thank you thank you thank you,” he whispers hurriedly, pulling away from her to scurry down the hall, already tugging off his shirt as he follows the sound of Vaughn’s muffled singing under the shower spray.

* * *

_Friday, October 23_

The farm is about 90 minutes upstate, and Rhys has been here enough times that he knows the owners on a first-name basis. He waves to Athena and Janey on the way in, promising to catch up with them when they all stop for lunch. 

They’re all divided up into groups with an equal number of chaperones, children eagerly holding on to their burlap bags while adults hold onto maps of the farm that detail hayride routes, as well as where the different kinds of apples grow and how to get to the pumpkin patch. Rhys makes sure that the groups are all set before letting everyone separate to pick apples to their hearts’ content, agreeing on when and where to meet for lunch. When everyone disperses, there’s only one group left, consisting of Angel, her chaperone, and Angel’s buddy Gaige, whose chaperone mysteriously cancelled at the last moment, leaving Rhys with the task of completing the group.

Rhys squints suspiciously at Jack, who’s already wiggling his brows at Rhys from where he stands next to Angel as she talks excitedly with Gaige. “Missed you on the bus,” Jack says as they set out.

“That was on purpose,” Rhys mumbles, eyeing the map and taking Gaige’s hand. “Okay, so it’s usually easiest to take the hay ride to the far end and work our way back to the front. You okay with that?”

Jack shrugs, nodding, and the four of them get in the queue for the hayride. Janey’s driving the tractor, and she greets them with a wide smile as she helps them up onto the hay bales.

“Your accent is weird,” Gaige blurts out as soon as she’s settled. Not surprisingly, Jack snickers while Angel is the one to hiss Gaige’s name in a reprimanding tone.

“Is it now?” Janey asks, smiling as she climbs up into the tractor. “Well I think yours is pretty funny sounding, too.”

“Is not!” Gaige insists, and Janey laughs as she starts up the tractor and begins telling the girls about where she’s from.

Rhys settles back into the hay, watching the apple trees pass them by as they ride through the crisp morning air. This is one of the few trips they are allowed that’s not strictly educational, and admittedly he’s been looking forward to it about as much as the kids have.

“Funny thing about Gaige’s dad cancelling like that,” Jack says, and Rhys shoots him an unimpressed look. He’s wearing his contacts today, it seems, the blue and green of his eyes more pronounced than usual. “Hyperion must’ve piled on the work really suddenly. Weird.” His tone is casual in a way that confirms Rhys’s suspicions, and he rolls his eyes.

“I wish I could say I was surprised,” Rhys says. He stretches his legs out onto the hay bale in front of him and leans back on his elbows. “Couldn’t help but notice you signed up for just about every field trip and school event we’re having this semester.”

“Oh yeah,” Jack says with a grin. “Gonna be a real soccer dad this year. You’re gonna be seeing a lot of me.” He checks that Angel and Gaige are distracted before he leans in. “You could see a lot more of me if you wanted, though,” he murmurs, smirking.

“Oh my god,” Rhys says, actually letting himself laugh at that one. Angel turns at the sound and smiles at him, and Rhys thinks he might have an alright day, everything considered.

-

“Pumpkin, pumpkin?” Jack says later, holding out a tiny pumpkin roughly the size of his palm out to Angel, who laughs and takes it from his hand.

“It’s so small,” she whispers with something like awe, before stuffing it into the burlap bag with her apples.

Jack picks up another one, this one bigger but somehow both squat and round, and brushes off the dirt, squinting at it. “Hm. This one looks kinda familiar.” Not ten feet away, Rhys is bending to check out a larger pumpkin, thinking about making a jack-o-lantern for the classroom. Jack grins, holding the pumpkin up to his eye and lining it up with the shape of Rhys’s butt as he bends. “Ah, there it is. I knew I’d seen it before,” he says, somewhat loudly. Rhys looks back to see what Jack is doing and immediately flushes a bright red, huffing as he quickly rights himself and pulls his jacket down.

Jack laughs long and loud at the sound. “Hold on a minute,” he says through a chuckle, taking two apples from Angel’s bag. “Hey Rhys!”

Rhys’s face is still red when he turns, holding his pumpkin. “What,” he calls back, but Jack only holds up the two apples, comparing them to Rhys’s cheeks.

“See, Angel? Same color and everything!” Angel doesn’t laugh so much as she cackles, and Jack is right there with her, their laughter sounding eerily similar. Rhys’s eyes widen at the sound; he quickly takes Gaige’s mechanical hand in his own and leads her in the direction of the picnic tables where lunch is starting soon.

-

On the bus on the way back, Rhys sits at the front, leaning back and enjoying the scenery out the window, watching the golds and oranges and reds in the trees blur by. A few rows back, Jack’s voice somehow rings out above all the others.

“So. What do you wanna do with these? Apple tart? Or maybe some jam for thumb prints?”

There’s a low hum, and then Angel saying, “Both? We have a _lot_ of apples.”

A chuckle, and then, “You got it, baby girl.” Rhys smiles and leans his head against the window, letting his eyes slip shut until they get home.

* * *

_Friday, October 30_  

The school has never had a Halloween dance, so Rhys isn’t totally sure what to expect. Louise texts him while he’s on his way there, asking him to pick up napkins on his way there since “ _someone_ forgot to,” and Rhys can only imagine who she’s glaring at as she says it. He stops at a pharmacy on the way there, his heavy boots clomping loudly along the linoleum floor, self-conscious of his heavy black eye makeup and how all the leather he’s wearing squeaks together, and unused to his hair hanging in his eyes this way.

Still, as he catches his reflection in the glass doors of the refrigerators on his way back to the napkins, he does look pretty cool. A bit gangly compared to Sebastian Stan, and his hair is wavier than it strictly should be, but. Still cool.

At the very least the arm had been easy. Since his last upgrade was eerily similar to the one in the movie, all he had to do was put on some leather fingerless gloves and slap a red star sticker on near his shoulder. Really he thinks he looks pretty impressive.

Not that any of that matters to the kid in the crying baby mask on the skateboard outside, passing him by as Rhys exits the pharmacy. “Wrong arm, moron!” the kid calls out as he whizzes by. Rhys rolls his eyes and flips the kid off, grumbling under his breath. He tosses the napkins onto his passenger seat next to the mask and continues his drive to the school.

-

The party’s already started by the time Jack arrives with Angel, who makes a beeline for Gaige while Jack grins and does the same for Rhys. How Jack recognizes him even with the mask on, Rhys isn’t sure, but the next thing he knows Jack is sidling up to him in his indecently tight jeans, dark brown vest, and stetson.

“Rhysie, you should’ve told me, we could’ve done a couple’s costume,” Jack says with a smirk.

Rhys rolls his eyes, pulling the mask off his face. “Somehow I don’t think you’d make a very good Black Widow. Not stealthy enough, not to mention a red wig wouldn’t suit you.”

Jack squints at him for a moment. “Excuse me, cupcake, I can make just about anything look good.” He looks so serious when he says it and Rhys almost laughs. “Besides, I meant Captain America. I’m always down for being a hero.” He makes some attempt at what Rhys guesses is supposed to be some sort of superhero pose, but Rhys isn’t convinced, shaking his head and leaning in to be heard over the music.

“That’s the thing, though. You’d make a terrible Captain America.” At the indignant look Jack shoots him, Rhys pushes on. “See, Steve Rogers didn’t actually _wanna_ be a hero. That’s what made him a good one. You just wanna put on a skin tight costume.” He reaches for a bottle of water from the refreshment table nearby and takes a long sip while Jack stares at him, blinking.

“Wow.” Rhys grins smugly at that, until Jack continues, "I didn't realize you were that much of a nerd. Christ, being a skinny little cyborg in glasses isn't enough for you?"

And Rhys’s smile falls into a deep frown at that. He huffs, grumbling, and he’s had to explain this so many times that the answer is almost automatic. “I’m not a cyborg. My arm doesn't give me advanced capabilities that transcend human limitation. It’s just a replacement for a regular arm and does all the things a regular arm does, nothing more, nothing less. I’m one hundred percent human, Jack.”

Jack looks at him again with wide eyes, and for just a moment Rhys thinks he’s maybe going to apologize, but—“Oh my god. I can't deal with the level of nerd happening here. I'm gonna go literally anywhere else." With that he makes his way to the other side of the gym, where he flirts with one of the other teachers. Rhys watches him go and tells himself he should be proud for finally shutting Jack up for once.

-

He doesn’t get to talk to Jack again, but he gets a text while driving home that he checks once he’s inside.

_going to a more grown up party tomorrow night if you’re down ;)_

There’s a time and an address attached, but Rhys just chuckles and tosses his phone onto the couch, heading to the bathroom to wash the makeup off.

* * *

_Saturday, October 31_  

The thing is, Rhys already has plans for Halloween—the same ones he has every Halloween. The venue changes, but the company is the same, as are the plans.

This year it’s in Fiona’s apartment. Rhys feeds Gortys and heads downstairs in his socks, nothing but his keys, phone, and a flash drive on hand as he makes his way to the apartment on the floor below.

Sasha and August are already there, Mario Kart paused on the TV while they wait for Fiona to let Rhys in.

“I wish you’d just use your keys,” Fiona grumbles as he follows her into the living room, flopping back down onto the couch and digging into the bowl of candy.

“I would,” Rhys says, shuffling over to his usual spot on the loveseat. “But then I’d forget them here and I wouldn’t have them for, y’know. _Actual_ emergencies.”

Fiona huffs back in that way that says she knows Rhys is right but doesn’t want to admit it lest he get that dumb smug look again, chewing her candy and already reaching for another.

“Jeez, Fi, leave some for the trick-or-treaters,” Sasha says with a laugh, readying her controller to begin playing again. She’s leaning back against August, who’s scrolling through something on his phone.

“Shut up,” Fiona replies around a mouthful of chocolate. “Kids never come up here anyway.” Sasha shrugs, nodding in reluctant agreement.

“So Rhys,” she says, looking at him, “what’d you bring this time?”

Rhys grins, fishing his flash drive out of his pocket and tossing it onto the coffee table. “Newest _Evil Dead._ ”

“Nice,” Sasha says, smiling and nodding. “I’ve got Shutter on mine.” She looks back at August and frowns, elbowing him in the side; he lets out a quiet _oof_ and drops his phone. “August brought _House of Wax._ The remake,” she says, already shaking her head.

“Lame,” Rhys says, swinging one leg onto the arm of the loveseat.

“Yup,” Sasha agrees. “Fi’s got a good one, though. What was it called again?” she asks, nudging at Fiona’s leg with her socked foot.

“ _Babadook_ ,” Fiona mumbles around a sucker.

Rhys’s eyes widen. “Oh, we gotta watch that one. I heard good things.” There’s a knock at the front door then, and Rhys springs to his feet to get it.

When Vaughn and Yvette follow him in, there’s no preamble before Vaughn is enthusiastically saying, “Okay, Yvette’s got _28 Days Later,_ which is great, but consider this.” He holds up his black and yellow flash drive like it’s the Holy Grail while Yvette greets everyone, tossing her own drive into the pile and sliding onto the loveseat next to Rhys, lying back against the arm and letting him settle between her legs and lean back against her.

“Early 90s Peter Jackson,” Vaughn continues, gesturing with his flash drive. “Set records for the amount of blood used. Spanish title is literally _Your Mother Ate My Dog._ Absolutely ridiculous, kinda gross, and one of the best movies I’ve ever seen in my life.”

Fiona looks at him with wide eyes. “I’ll go make the popcorn.”

-

 _Dead Alive_ is everything Vaughn promises it to be and more. They’re taking a short break before the next one—Sasha’s mixing drinks in the kitchen; Fiona is making more popcorn and replenishing the candy bowl; Yvette’s getting _Babadook_ ready to go, and Vaughn is attempting to educate August on the merits of _Rubber,_ to no avail.

On his way back from the bathroom, Rhys peeks into Sasha’s old room and frowns at how empty it still looks, making a note to ask Fiona if she’s okay later, maybe suggest she finally get a new roommate. As he considers that, his phone chirps from his pocket.

When he opens the message, a photo of a smiling Angel looks back at him. She’s dressed as Sally, holding her pumpkin shaped pail and standing next to someone dressed as Jack Skellington. Rhys squints at the photo; the guy is still holding his mask, and he looks an _awful_ lot like Jack (...Lawrence, that is), but he doesn’t have a scar, and the way he smiles is...too genuine to be Jack, really. Rhys saves the photo and reminds himself to ask about it later when another message comes in.

This one is definitely Jack (again, Lawrence), taking a selfie with a costumed Nisha. He almost doesn’t recognize her with the white wig and blue contacts, but there she is, dressed as Princess Kida to Jack’s Milo Thatch. He’s forgone the sweater and jacket in favor of...not much, actually, aside from khaki pants (too light, too tight), tank top (also too tight), and glasses (those are okay, he guesses). Still, next to Nisha it’s clear who he is, and Rhys tries not to stare at either one of them for too long.

“Rhys, you coming?” Yvette calls from the living room, and Rhys startles, quickly saving this photo and joining his friends, wondering to himself the whole time whether Jack is having fun at his “grown up” party.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ....I'm sorry. I'm trash and Cole Sprouse was an inspiration.
> 
> I'm also still a giant Stucky shipper and old habits die hard.
> 
> Coming in **November:** More tests; school plays; new and old friendships; Thanksgiving dinner preparations; Thanksgiving!
> 
> Again, thank you for your support and, of course, your patience!


	3. November

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ....I have so many excuses I'm not even going to bother.
> 
> This is shorter and shittier than I had planned but it's something? No beta. Here ya go.

_Thursday, November 5_

Rhys is already in his jacket and on his way out the door when he runs into Louise, who immediately grasps his arm and starts pulling him towards the auditorium.

“There you are!” she says excitedly, her manicured fingernails beginning to dig into the fabric of Rhys’s jacket. He frowns, taking big steps to keep up with her surprisingly quick stride. “We’ve been looking for you. Did you forget you have somewhere to be?”

“Uh…”

Louise rolls her eyes. “It’s your turn to supervise, Rhys.”

“Supervise? What are—” He remembers suddenly as they come closer to the auditorium, passing various students sitting on the floor in the hall making paper pilgrim hats. “Oh—Louise, c’mon, don’t make me do this,” he whines, subtly trying to wrench his arm from her grip, to no avail.

“Quit being such a baby, it’s only an hour,” she insists, finally reaching the auditorium door and promptly pushing him through it. As soon as she walks away, Rhys sighs and shrugs his jacket off, dropping it along with his bag onto a nearby seat. He knows it’s only an hour, and all he really has to do is make sure none of the kids get into any trouble while the drama teacher does all the actual work, maybe help cut out a few props.

But _god,_ does Rhys hate their Thanksgiving play.

He drags his feet to the front of the auditorium and picks up the clipboard sitting at the edge of the stage, scanning the parent volunteer schedule, and rolls his eyes when he sees Jack’s name on the roster for today. “Shocking,” he mumbles under his breath, wondering what Jack could possibly be doing at this point in production. His first thought is that he may be helping with set building, since they often ask parents with some carpentry experience to help create larger props and backdrops. He tries not to imagine Jack in a tool belt….and fails almost immediately.

But when he looks up at the stage, he doesn’t see Jack among the set-building crew, and he frowns, setting down the clipboard and making his way to the stairs leading backstage.

He finds Jack almost immediately, sitting next to a rather large pile of black and white fabric and a basket full of thread. Jack doesn’t seem to notice him at first, concentrating on pulling a threaded needle through two pieces of black fabric, making quick, neat stitches before cutting the thread.

When he finishes he puts that piece aside and picks up another from the pile, glancing up at Rhys and immediately grinning, his glasses riding down the bridge of his nose. “Heya sweet cheeks, you lookin’ for me?”

Rhys tries to look nonchalant as he crosses his arms over his chest and looks away. “Pfft. _No._ ”

Jack wiggles his eyebrows and pats the clear spot on the floor in front of him. “C’mon, I could do with a nice view while I work on this.”

Rhys huffs at first, almost says no just out of spite, but upon looking around realizes that he’s not really needed anywhere else at the moment. He sits on the floor, legs crossed in front of him, and watches as Jack gets to work on another piece of fabric. When Rhys looks more closely at the pile, he realizes it’s a bunch of the old pilgrim costumes from last year’s play, and Jack seems to be patching up the damaged ones.

“I didn’t know you could sew,” he says after a few minutes, to which Jack just shrugs, not looking up.

“Army used to make it mandatory,” Jack mumbles, brows furrowing when the thread tangles itself until he tugs it loose again.

Rhys’s eyes widen as he leans back on his hands. “Also didn’t know you were in the army.”

“Yep, straight outta high school.” Jack looks up at him then, mouth already poised in a smirk. “Still got my uniform if you’re into that, sweetheart,” he says with a wink, and Rhys rolls his eyes.

“ _Jack,_ ” he chides, and Jack chuckles as he looks back down at his stitching.

“Yeah yeah, don’t get all excited on me, it was just a joke.” Jack completes one more stitch before cutting the thread again. “Besides,” he says, holding up the costume to check for any more holes, “Nish always looked better in her uniform than I did. Don’t ever tell her I said that, though.”

And that’s….not a visual Rhys is ready to process right now. He shoves it to the back of his mind and knows he’ll probably dredge it up later tonight. He swallows, then looks around for a distraction. “Where’s Angel?” is what he settles on, searching for her dark hair among all the people scattered about the auditorium.

“Hm? Oh, she’s in the bathroom going over her lines,” Jack says distractedly, pulling the fabric along the seam to straighten out his stitches. “What the fuck is up with these costumes, by the way? Paper is more durable than this shit.” He shakes his head and pauses his sewing to push his glasses back up the bridge of his nose.

“She has a speaking part?” Rhys asks, a soft smile on his lips, something like pride in his tone.

Jack looks up at him with an expression that says something along the lines of _duh._ “Yeah? You think I’d be here otherwise? What, were you not at the auditions the other day?”

Rhys frowns at that, bringing his knees up to his chest. “I try not to get involved with the Thanksgiving festivities.” As if on cue, a child walks by wearing a headband with several colorful feathers sticking out of the back, and Rhys winces.

Jack looks up at that moment, mouth open to reply, then rolls his eyes at Rhys’s expression. “Oh c’mon, cupcake, don’t tell me you’re getting all broken up about accuracy.”

Rhys frowns. “I just don’t think we should be teaching them to indulge stereotypes.” He looks down at his shoes, resting his chin on his knees. “Or sugarcoat history.”

“So what,” Jack says with a snort, “you’d rather the kids put on a play about a bunch of colonists murdering a bunch of Pequot Indians? I’m sure that would go well with the PTA.” Rhys’s frown deepens, and Jack lets out a patronizing sigh. “Kiddo, you’re gonna have to get over it. History gets told by the winners, and the winners are usually assholes. The end.” With that he returns to his sewing, finally cutting the thread on this costume and putting it aside to pick up another one.

Rhys opens his mouth to reply, but hears someone calling him from across the auditorium. He sighs, giving Jack one last look before standing and walking away, pausing only when he hears Jack wolf whistle at his retreating back. Jack cackles and Rhys rolls his eyes as he walks back down the stairs leading him off the stage.

 ~

_Wednesday, November 11_

The receptionist thinks Angel looks scared, apparently, so she comes out from behind her desk to sit next to Angel in the waiting room and tell her that it’s “just like a giant donut, you go through a couple times and then you’re done! Not scary at all.”

And she’s right about Angel being scared, is the thing, but not about the CT scan. No, she’s more afraid of what they’ll find when they take a closer look at her brain, afraid of finding out that there really _is_ something wrong with her. Still, she listens quietly to the woman’s attempts at comfort, nods along and even laughs at the right moments, while Jack sits with crossed arms a few seats down and rolls his eyes.

Nisha, for her part, manages to contain any snarky comments, flipping idly through a magazine and snorting under her breath at the latest pop psychology articles. It’s not until Angel has been called to the back to begin her scan that Nisha finally turns her attention to Jack, although without looking up from the magazine in her lap.

“What’s with the sour face?” she says, licking her finger before turning a page.

Jack lets out a sound that actually sounds like a _humph,_ leaning forward in his seat at some attempt at looking...menacing, probably? It never works on Nisha so she’s not quite sure what effect it’s meant to have. “Well, _Nisha,_ ” Jack begins. She flicks her eyes over to him briefly, notes the more pronounced dark circles under his eyes, the redness to his sclera, the greasy texture of his hair. Probably forgot to shower and sleep last night, worrying about this instead. She takes a mental note and looks back down, turns another page.

“I’ve been thinking--”

“Not the best idea for you, sweetie,” she interrupts, but Jack charges on.

“--about how a half-wit elementary school teacher noticed something was going on with Angel after a couple weeks with her, while the child psychologist who’s known her her whole life never picked up on a goddamn thing.” Jack sits up suddenly, hands in the air. “I mean what the hell, Nish? Were you just not paying attention?”

Nisha does pause then, glancing up at Jack. “That’s not what you’re upset about,” she says, closing her magazine and tossing it on top of the stack on the coffee table in front of her. She clasps her hands together and leans in, looking him in the eye. “Because if I know you--and I know you pretty damn well--you’ve done all kinds of research and you know by now that Angel’s age is the earliest kids can even be evaluated.” Another pause, and Jack scoffs, crossing his arms again and looking away. “No, I think you’re mad because some of what you’ve read hits a little too close to home, and now you blame me for not pointing it out sooner. Am I getting close, Jack?”

She waits patiently for any sort of acknowledgement from Jack, and for a while all she gets is a few huffs and a frustratedly tapping foot. But she does know him--more than he’d like to admit--and like clockwork, only a few minutes later he’s turning back to her with a tired sigh.

“Did you know? When we met?” is all he says at first, and she raises one brow to beckon him to continue. “I read all this stuff about this shit running in families, and adults who keep fucking up because they don’t know they’ve got…” He trails off, takes off his glasses with one hand and rubs at his eyes with the other. “If I’d known sooner I could’ve done something about it. Things would’ve been different.”

Nisha nods. “You’re right. They would’ve been. Maybe you wouldn’t have had to enlist when you did. Maybe you would’ve gotten further in school. Then again, maybe we wouldn’t be here right now because Angel wouldn’t be here, either.” Jack looks up at that, eyes wide and protest ready on his tongue, but Nisha shakes her head. “Save it, Jack. Look, considering the cards you were dealt, you did alright for yourself, okay? So quit complaining and driving yourself crazy, and just shut up and deal the way you always have.”

She picks up a different magazine this time, flipping to the back page and beginning to work her way to the front. “I’m getting tired of all these pep talks,” she says quietly, and Jack almost laughs before he slouches back into his seat and pulls out his phone.

 ~

_Monday, November 16_

Rhys stops outside of the conference room at 7:55 AM, thumping his forehead against the wall.

“Yeah, I feel ya,” the phys-ed teacher says, stopping to lean in the doorway by Rhys. “You’d think starting class an hour later would be a good thing, but having a meeting first thing in the goddamn morning kinda ruins it.”

Rhys looks up at him with a tired smile. “Hey Axton,” he says, then yawns loudly. “Why are you here, anyway? No offense, obviously, but these things are usually irrelevant to phys-ed.”

“Eh, well,” Axton says with a head tilt, “you know how Ass-quez gets about these things.”

Rhys groans and thumps his forehead against the wall again. “For a minute I almost forgot about Vasquez.” He always manages to corner Rhys at every faculty meeting, usually by the coffee and donuts, and Rhys always feels ten times more awkward being hit on in front of the whole faculty.

Axton frowns, crossing his toned arms. “The offer’s still on the table if you want me to step in when he starts buggin’ you.”

“Thanks,” Rhys replies with a soft smile, “but you know I’d rather not make a scene.”

“Suit yourself,” Axton says, shrugging, and then smirks at Rhys. “Y’know what other offer is still on the table, darlin’?”

Rhys chuckles, leaning against the wall by the conference room and mirroring Axton’s pose. “You’re _married,_ Ax.”

The grin Axton shoots him as he leans in closer is somehow both playful and predatory as he says, quietly, “You say that like Ellie would mind.”

Rhys actually laughs like that, putting a hand on Axton’s arm and pushing him into the conference room. “Thanks but no thanks.”

“You just let me know when you change your mind,” Axton says with a wink before making his way to his usual seat at the U-shaped table.

Rhys shakes his head, smiling, and then stops as he looks over at the table where the coffee, donuts, and bagels are. He considers not having any, just to avoid Vasquez, but his stomach rumbles in protest just at the thought and he sighs.

He makes his way to the table and quickly pours himself a cup of coffee, hoping to grab a donut and make it to his seat before Vasquez can get to him. But when he looks up as he stirs his sugar in, Vasquez is still on the other side of the room, talking quietly with Louise. He looks up once, meets Rhys's eyes for the briefest of moments, and then quickly averts his gaze, suddenly finding the coffee in his hand extraordinarily interesting. Rhys frowns, now almost waiting for Vasquez to come over and say something, but the principal barely makes any eye contact with him throughout the meeting, or over the next few weeks, for that matter. Rhys is glad for the lack of attention but can't quite shake off the uneasy, guilty feeling that comes with his freedom. 

~

_Friday, November 20_

There’s a sitcom playing on the tv in the background, half-empty glasses and takeout containers on the coffee table, and a bottle of light blue gel nail polish in Rhys’s robotic hand. He holds the bottle while Fiona keeps his flesh hand steady and swipes the color neatly over each of his nails.

“I’m just saying, he’d never go for it,” Fiona finishes with a laugh, then caps the polish and reaches for something on the coffee table. “Oh, I forgot to grab the topcoat. Be right back,” she says, standing and stretching her limbs out before making her way to the hall.

Rhys listens to her shuffle around her room for a moment before she emerges empty-handed. He watches her cross the hall and stop in front of the closed door of Sasha’s old room. For a moment she poises her hand by the door, about to rap her knuckles against the wood before she pauses and turns the knob, stepping into the empty room.

Rhys is still frowning when she finally returns with a bottle of clear polish. She settles back into her spot on the couch, handing Rhys the bottle and beginning to apply the topcoat in quick, even strokes.

“Have you considered renting Sash’s old room?” he asks, trying to sound casual and not as concerned as he is.

“I mean I could, but, y’know.” She shrugs, bringing Rhys’s hand closer to her face, “What if it doesn’t work out with August? She’s gonna need somewhere to go.” She lays one more neat swipe of gel polish on Rhys’s pinky, capping it and picking up the color again before beckoning for his feet.

Rhys complies, moving his feet into Fiona’s lap and watching her roll her eyes at his polka dotted socks before slipping them off and getting to work on his toes. “That doesn’t mean you have to put your life on hold on the off chance that she comes back.”

Fiona looks up at him quickly, frowning and with a rebuttal already on the tip of her tongue. “I’m not—” But his knowing look is enough to make her stop, huffing and grumbling a “whatever” as she continues painting Rhys’s toes.

“Besides,” Rhys says after a moment, grinning, “I think we both know if it doesn’t work out with August, she’ll just come running to me to finally profess the undying love she’s been harboring for me all this time.”

Fiona actually snorts like that, moving the brush away from his toes as her hand jerks with the sound. “You and Sash? Yeah right. She’d wipe the floor with you.”

He chuckles, a dreamy look taking over his face. “Yeah, she would, wouldn’t she?”

Pausing to look up at him again, Fiona frowns. “ _Gross,_ no way am I letting you near my sister, you weirdo.” She paints the last few toes as Rhys laughs and tries not to move, then caps the color polish and reaches for the topcoat again.

 ~

_Tuesday, November 24_

“Look, take that one right there.”

“Are you kidding me? It’s $39.99, we’ll need like four hundred bucks’ worth just to get enough for everyone--”

“But it says right here it pairs well with turkey.”

“Well if we get ten of these eight-dollar bottles we’ll be too drunk to care.”

While Sasha and August continue to bicker in front of the shelves of wine, Rhys leans against the grocery cart with Fiona, Vaughn, and Yvette, all watching in varying stages of amusement and horror.

“Who knew August was so picky about wine?” Vaughn says, surprised.

“Are you kidding me? He’s picky about _everything,_ ” Fiona says, looking through the Thanksgiving dinner ingredients in their cart. “Sasha was gonna buy a pre-made pumpkin pie and he flipped his lid. Apparently Thanksgiving is a high-end affair at Vallory’s.”

“Is that why we’re at this fancy supermarket?” Rhys interjects, sneaking some “all natural zebra cakes” into the cart.

“That, and Vaughn likes the artisan protein bars from here,” Yvette says, not looking up from where she’s been playing with her phone, already bored.

Vaughn shrugs. “Low on calories, high on protein and flavor. What’s not to like?” With that, they fall quiet again, each wincing every time Sasha or August snatches a bottle of wine out of the other’s hands a little too enthusiastically.

With a sigh, Yvette pockets her phone and makes her way to Sasha and August, shutting them up as she takes the bottles from them. “Okay, here’s how it’s gonna go,” she says, gesturing with the bottles. “We’ll get a fancy one for the actual dinner, and five cheap ones to get wasted afterwards. Agreed? Done, now let’s move on.” She places the bottles carefully into the cart and grabs a few more from the shelf before navigating out of that aisle into the next one.

The gang follows almost obediently behind her, Vaughn with a somewhat awestruck look on his face, though the bickering doesn’t quite stop.

“I don’t get why you wanna do Thanksgiving this year if you’re not even gonna try to make it good,” August whines for probably the third time that day, and Sasha lets out an irritated groan.

“Because it’s our first Thanksgiving at the new place and I thought it would be fun. If I’d known you were gonna go all hipster foodie on me I never would’ve suggested it. Now help me pick out the stuffing,” she says, as they pause in front of the shelves in the next aisle.

A pause, and then: “...you wanna do _boxed_ stuffing?”

“Holy shit,” Fiona says, stifling a laugh.

As the fight begins anew and everyone settles in to wait again, Rhys busies himself with his phone, laughing at a text post until he’s startle by the loud clanging of another grocery cart crashing into his.

“What the hell--” he begins, looking up, his eyes going wide when he sees a familiar face.

“How’s it going, cupcake?” Jack says, grinning and leaning against the handle on his own cart. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you around here before, or we would’ve bumped uglies _way_ sooner.”

_“Oh my god,”_ Rhys says, horrified, under his breath.

Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Yvette, Fiona, and Sasha take minute steps closer until they all flank him. “Rhys? Do you know this guy?” Yvette asks, her voice low and cautious.

Jack doesn’t seem deterred, his grin only taking on a somehow more mischievous curve. “Yeah, Rhysie, aren’t you gonna introduce me to your pals?”

Rhys takes a deep breath, shutting his eyes as he exhales, says, “Jack, these are my friends. Vaughn, Yvette, Fiona, Sasha, August,” and gestures to them all respectively. “Guys, this is uh. Jack Lawrence. He’s a parent from work.”

Jack scoffs. “I think I’m a little more than that, sweetheart.”

Sasha, the traitor, does a poor job of stifling her laughter. “Wait, _this_ is Jack? Jack as in the guy you--”

“ _Yes,_ Sasha, this is Jack, now please _stop talking,_ ” Rhys whispers, barely, but Jack has heard enough, grinning almost manically.

“You told your friends about me, huh? That’s cute, Rhys, that’s real cute.” He doesn’t allow time for a response, instead turning his attention to the shelves. “What are you looking at here? Stuffing? You looking to get stuffed, Rhys?”

Distantly, beyond the sound of all the blood rushing to his face, Rhys can hear Fiona whisper “Oh my god” at the same time Vaughn says “You fucked _this guy?_ ”

Jack doesn’t seem perturbed at all, leaning over to take a good look at the contents of Rhys’s cart. “Wait, are you buying Thanksgiving stuff _now?_ Cutting it kinda short, aren’t you?”

In the back of their group, August quietly says, “I _told_ you, Sasha,” followed by the solid _thump_ of Sasha punching him in the arm.

Rhys is already gesturing for Yvette to pull the cart back in the opposite direction and beat a hasty retreat as he says, “Thanks for the concern, Jack, but I’m pretty sure we’ll be fine.”

“You sure? With the cheap wine and boxed stuffing?”

Another “ _I told you, Sasha,”_ another _thump,_ this one harder and followed by a low whine.

“Yup, we’ll be fine, Jack, see ya!” Rhys replies, his voice growing increasingly anxious as the group moves on to the next aisle to hide.

“Okay, you know I try not to judge your life choices,” Vaughn begins once they’re safely hidden by the canned soup, and Rhys groans, hiding his face in his hands. “But you left _us_ and fucked _that guy?_ Really? Follow up: that man is a father? What the hell?”

Rhys looks at the canned soup, stacked high on the shelves next to them, and wishes for them all to collapse on top of him as Sasha and August begin to debate the elements of a good casserole.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **[[DELETED SCENE, READ HERE]](http://michaelandthegodsquad.tumblr.com/post/149433256558/the-education-that-i-missed-deleted-scene-from) **
> 
> Possible Thanksgiving meta to come on Tumblr.
> 
> Thanks to everyone for the kind and supportive messages y'all have been sending me for the last 9.5 months.

**Author's Note:**

> Come harass me on [Tumblr](http://michaelandthegodsquad.tumblr.com/) or [Twitter](https://twitter.com/mikeandgodsquad)


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